The alarm blares, snatching me away from whatever
dream I was having.
I roll out of bed and stumble to the closet.
I pick through my clothes, still half asleep.
High heels or ballet flats?
Later in the kitchen I squint
at the contents of my fridge
silently willing the coffee pot to brew faster
Omelet or over easy?
I scroll through the news
as I sip my coffee and shovel food in my mouth.
I read about how the desire to save money
has resulted in the hospitalizations of thousands
in Flint, Michigan.
Michael Brown, Emmett Till,
and Matthew Shepard,
chained up to that fence and left to die by two homophobes;
Crispus Attucks, and Archduke Ferdinand starting wars with their deaths…
The first Wall Street executive
who brought up the idea of
Sub-prime lending.
Dreams of dollar bills danced in their heads,
with no thought yet of “too big to fail”
A young, scrappy, and hungry Alexander Hamilton
sending a poem he wrote about the hurricane that destroyed his home
to a local newspaper for publication.
I rinse my dishes,
grab my things,
and walk out the door.
As I go, I reflect
upon the ripples
we all leave in our wake.