Notes above the Stream, A Part of the Stream
In Water Tower Place there is a waterfall
that flows down the center of a stairwell,
a little stream of consciousness.
Every now and then a bubble of water
lifts up, hangs in the air, and bursts.
Its individual beauty, rounded like a note,
stunning, then falls
into the flow.
Rosa/ rose so.
Her education in her hands with light inside them.
She sat and sewed a straight seam,
a road to follow as we flowed a thousandfold
while empty busses rumbled emptily on wicked wheels.
Stopped time, trembled, her testifying sweat
under the hot lights of a television sun.
"I’m sick and tired
of being sick
and tired." Hands working the land like light, water.
She fell back into the flow. Splashed
and kept on going.
"I’d like to be remembered
as a person who wanted to be free
and a person who wanted
other people to be free."
Free/ a little stream of consciousness
flowing out of Memory into History.
Each one/ rising.
Notice the notes of water
as they spring up, resilient, leap up a cry for Justice,
fall back into the stream of this commercial place,
a clear consciousness
continuous, vivid, splendid.
Each one of us/ rising
on a moment’s note.
Shining, hanging round in air,
trembling and falling back
a fluid descent of striving, and decent dissent.