Ada Limón


If this place that we live in includes
the kid with the chemicals and the lot
of old boats and carpet squares covered
with a sea of rocks from any given river,
wouldn't two people deserve to meet here,
somewhere down the street before the light
turns green, or before their hearts explode
from one dumb tragedy or another. I think so.
Give them that feeling like they have opened
all the envelopes and cleared off the kitchen
table to only the bare necessities, only
the stadium of themselves. Let the others
fall away like plastic figurines in a fish
bowl, their damage only superficial,
and let these small people rise up
and recover, let the man in the gray suit
be our hero for once, the woman
at the hardware store, the drunk,
and make each one of them remind us
that we have all come out of basic need,
some gnawing thing, some hunger.