I didn’t want to write this poem.

I wanted to write the poem
about the angry man
who almost
went too far.

I wanted to write the poem
about the moment
just before he tipped
his troops
across the invisible line
that separates
one people
from another.

I wanted to write about the part
where he hears a baby cry
and the truest part of him,
without thinking,
reaches out
to soothe her.

In that moment,
he realizes how powerful
he already is.

The entire world is watching him
and he says to us,

We can be this for each other.
We can soothe, not strike.
We can share, not shout.
We can forgive, not fight.
We are all brothers and sisters.
We can do this simple thing.
We can be kind.

But the baby is still crying.

She is tucked under a mother’s coat,
shivering in a subway station,
a bunker packed with strangers
breathing the same fear
as sirens wail above them,
like a city’s own awful cries.

I didn’t want to write this poem.

But I won’t look away
as history leaves
another scar.

I will write for all of them,
even the angry man,
poems of hope,
and when they soften,
I will finally write a poem
of peace.

Walk around today
as though you will die tomorrow
and you will see beauty
stitched into every face
and leaf and dirty dish.

Walk around today
as though you will die tomorrow
and you will forgive
everything.

Walk around today
as though you will die tomorrow
and you will grow numb to everything
except gratitude
for what you have
right now.

You can try to stay closed
but I will be doing it too
and when I see you

you will see how I see you

and you will feel so cherished
in that moment
you will have no choice
but to melt.

Make friends with yourself
the monk said

and I felt my skin snap
against my bones

in that way
when clarity punctures
the crust of old habits
and the world goes still
for a precious borrowed blink

a familiar clump of words
but somehow I knew
what she meant

see the good
forgive the bad
and don’t put yourself
up on a pedestal

I sat for a long time afterwards
on a bench in the wind
wondering at the genius
of such ordinary love.

When in that cold cell
whipped by words and chains
did you grow your forgiveness
and what did the guards do
when they realized
you were vast beyond those walls
when they watched you walk away
three decades later
turn to them
and smile.