Thursday, January 22, 2009
January 21, 2009
I did not go to Washington, D.C. for the inauguration of Barack Obama, but went there to watch the 44th President take his oath of office with my friend of forever who knows an aircraft carrier does not turn at right angles and how to spell out words backwards in the clouds. We knew about each other's magic. To move through her kingdom, she fashioned garnets for my eyes, and I, her, a velvet cloak, but even with those charms we were knocked about in the finishing pool of sand and glass, and so here we are now, scarred brown and white russets who grew up in the Bronx near Hunts Point Avenue eating yes-i-canapes predicting that none of the pimps and gang members would trouble the Mall unless they wished to rouse the ire of the community, sitting in front of a television set on a morning when any sentence could begin with an infinitive as 5,000 portapotties and millions of people lined Pennsylania Avenue in freezing January at ground truth, which is more exceptional than the president's proposed stimulus package, his latest appointment, and his acceptance speech, for it is unending love that carries us across the river.