This is the first in a series of posts featuring poems that I wrote in college that I recently found while going through boxes in my room in my parents' house in New Jersey.
I'm not posting them indiscriminately; these are only the ones I felt were in some way worth resurrecting. They're not reproduced in their authentic entirety. I'm tweaking them as I retype them for posting; but the essence is still the same.
If you'd like, feel free to read more...
It was in the air last night, crisp like wind, an apple, starched shirts, vodka on the rocks.
The atmosphere chilled to the perfect temperature. As sun sets, the breeze doesn’t so much increase as it does intensify, deepening until it begins an almost ungentle assault on skin. Symbols of the seasons palpably intertwine to convey the distinct impression that it's a renewal moment. We bid adieu to what is no longer in our control. Out of our hands, beyond us, yet because of us, some sort of cycle is about to begin all over again. In these autumn months we seek the company of others, and walk toward companionship, if only to keep us warm, as chill sets up shop and prepares for winter.
As we shift like seasons within our lives, we wish for discernment, for a chemistry both potent and proper, mellifluous and meaningful. We add extra layers to protect ourselves against a coming frost.
You’d call them winds of change, if they weren’t so familiar, so unimaginably same.
Rising reluctant in morning
I ventured forth.
Swirling among My Fellow Americans
Joining the queue of the enfranchised
I immersed myself in a metropolitan Salad Bowl
of people who were all the same because we were all different.
Lines at the polls move quicker than I do in the morning.
But so do most things. Like snails, and turtles, and magma.
There are those who would ask my inclination,
my party affiliation. And to those I would reply:
My choice was simple.
I voted for an end to the salacious sniping,
an end to the constant coverage.
I voted for new news stories, for my reunion
with friends whose political affiliations differ,
for the future, whatever it may hold.
My flicking of levers in voting booths
(themselves just a smidge smaller than my apartment)
is America in action, makes me a member
of a better city, of a greater populace.
I acted.
I chose.
I flexed my political bicep.
I opted in.
I surmised.
I estimated.
I engaged in the Democratic process.
I renewed my commitment to America.
I raised my voice.
I voted. Did you?
Change is good
