We
by Odin Roark

The inconsequential to some,
The colors, form and place to others,
The migratory struggle unknown by many.

Children pause,
Sometimes sit,
Often clutching a grandparent’s hand,
Gaze,
Ponder,
Giggle,
Occasionally sigh.

We
A neighborhood’s iridescent grace with sun’s rise,
Shadowed rest at sun’s set,
Remain a wall-etched history of blood spilling,
Heart touching,
Soul building,
Remaining alive,
Even as we sleep,
And hope.

We
The murals of immigrant expectancy,
Smile our anticipation,
Beneath painted struggle
Absorbing the breath of pedestrian wonder,
Knowing mere glimpses of this corner,
This place where two streets enjoin,
Like the intersecting cultures we’ve become,
Share but one light,
Passion’s morning pink,
Conviction’s dusk red.

Each day our illuminate
Sends warm invitations to share our unending trust
That everyone is part of Time’s abiding consciousness,
Continually rewinding for its next beginning,
And the next.