A System of Perpetual Hope
This is the day we’ve all awaited:
the buses idle, queued along the boulevards,
to bring in the masses of smiling supplicants.
They disembark, take their places on the lawn,
roost upon green statues when all standing space is gone.
Barely a blade of grass will show.
It is noon and no shadows puddle
the squares and avenues, where voices grow
as voices do in this moment of triumph.
Music haunts the enclaves through a sound
system of perpetual hope, plumes of breath
hover over heads that pock the bleached balconies,
the whitewashed salted streets. In the deepest
cavern of winter, hope taps the frigid air
like a pulse, to see a day we thought would never come.
The man is the show, in a red tie, a pin in his lapel;
he fumbled his oath, this man of destiny.
And so ends an irretrievable era.
Caroline Misner's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1618 – 28 July 1667)
- leticia s david
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(November 9 - 1937)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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