A House Called Tomorrow
By Alberto Ríos
You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—
You are a hundred wild centuries
And fifteen, bringing with you
In every breath and in every step
Everyone who has come before you,
All the yous that you have been,
The mothers of your mother,
The fathers of your father.
If someone in your family tree was trouble,
A hundred were not:
The bad do not win—not finally,
No matter how loud they are.
We simply would not be here
If that were so.
You are made, fundamentally, from the good.
With this knowledge, you never march alone.
You are the breaking news of the century.
You are the good who has come forward
Through it all, even if so many days
Feel otherwise. But think:
When you as a child learned to speak,
It’s not that you didn’t know words—
It’s that, from the centuries, you knew so many,
And it’s hard to choose the words that will be your own.
From those centuries we human beings bring with us
The simple solutions and songs,
The river bridges and star charts and song harmonies
All in service to a simple idea:
That we can make a house called tomorrow.
What we bring, finally, into the new day, every day,
Is ourselves. And that’s all we need
To start. That’s everything we require to keep going.
Look back only for as long as you must,
Then go forward into the history you will make.
Be good, then better. Write books. Cure disease.
Make us proud. Make yourself proud.
And those who came before you? When you hear thunder,
Hear it as their applause.
Monday was windy and chilly, uneventful, stressful, exhausting. I can't decide whether I want election day over with or whether what comes after the next few weeks could be so vastly worse that I'll be sorry the last endless month ever ended. Apart from enjoying the weather and the bunnies and rearranging some shelves, I didn't do much that was exciting.
Paul made faux mole for dinner for the Day of the Dead. We watched the Giants-Bucs game around some episodes of The Right Stuff, which I'm not enjoying nearly as much as I expected; it's mostly about the ways the astronauts were asshole losers, and the women's roles are shit. I want more Queen's Gambit! Geese from Brookside last weekend: