Call Us What We Carry

by Amanda Gorman

May those laid to rest never leave us, But lead us to rise. We lived. & that was more than we asked for.

Our hero enters the new realm, the winding wood, the perilous path. There is no turning back, or else we turn our back on ourselves.

The hero clenches their fist. Something tightens inside us like a muscle, a trembling memory reminds us of who & what we are. The music crescendos out of our bones. None of this is normal. Then again, neither are we.

Our hero must engage in a battle between opposing forces. Armed with sword, saber, wands & words, they must defend what they believe in.

We understand “normal” in terms of how we believe a story begins. Inspirational, insightful, inside us. There is always someone missing from the music.

At the end of their journey, a hero may stand in the same place where their story started, but nevertheless they have been irrevocably shifted, altered, displaced.

There is no such thing as “all over” or “all done.”

That is to say, distance Renders all massiveness Carriable. It is the carrying That makes memory mutual,

There is a justice in joy, Starlit against all that We have ended, endured & Entered. We will not stir stones. We shall make mountains.

We do not hope for no reason. Hope is the reason for itself.

To begin again Isn’t to go backwards, But to decide to go.

In a poem, there’s no end, Just a place where the page Glows wide & waiting,

Our eyes waxed wide with wonder. Children understand: Even grime is a gift, Even what is mired is miraculous, What is marred is still marvelous.

That is to say, we believe beyond disaster.

Time arcs into itself. It is not a repeat, but a reckoning. Days can’t help but walk two by two— The past & present, paired & paralleled.

Words matter, for Language is an ark. Yes, Language is an art, An articulate artifact. Language is a life craft. Yes, Language is a life raft.

What are we, If not the price of light. Loss is the cost of loving, A debt more than worth every pulse & pull. We know this because we have decided to Remember.

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, And the norms and notions of what “just is” Isn’t always justice.

And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine. But this doesn’t mean we’re striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose,

It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.

In this truth, in this faith, we trust. For while we have our eyes on the future, History has its eyes on us.

But one thing is certain: If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, Then love becomes our legacy, And change, our children’s birthright.