"When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid. The
new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we’re
brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it."
~ Amanda Gorman
"In case within the confines of your studio — you were wondering about the relevance of art when the world seems to be disintegrating, you needed only to watch a supernova explode before our collective eyes and ears on television on Wednesday. In the middle of the elder statesmen, bibles, bunting and marine band’s coordinated efforts to galvanize the history-in-the-making moment of the Presidential inauguration, a 22-year-old poet delivered, in her own words, the turning of an American page.
A poem, the most mysterious and delicate of artforms, was laid out before us as a soul-gift, from the soul of the future. It was as if we had all forgotten where our souls were, or were they merely battered, depleted or shriveled, having forgotten that art is not a luxury, but rather an ardent and essential longing — because it is, in fact, the universal pathway to connection and meaning." ~ Sara Genn • The Painter's Keys 1-22-21
The Hill We Climb
When day comes we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We’ve braved the belly of the beast. We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace. In the norms and notions of what just is isn’t always justice.
And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow, we do it. Somehow, we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished. We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose, to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made. That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb if only we dare it. Because being American is more than a pride we inherit; it’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a forest that would shatter our nation rather than share it, would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy. And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be
permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while
we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the
era of just redemption. We feared it at its inception. We did not feel
prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour, but within it, we
found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to
ourselves.
So, while once we asked: “How could we possibly prevail over
catastrophe?” Now we assert, “How could catastrophe possibly prevail
over us?”
And so, we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true. That even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped; that even as we tired, we tried; that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised, but whole; benevolent, but bold; fierce and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation, because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation. Our blunders become their burdens. 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.
So, let us leave behind a country better than one we were left. With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise from the gold-limned hills of the West. We will rise from the wind-swept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states. We will rise from the sun-baked South. We will rebuild, reconcile and recover in every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country our people diverse and beautiful will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid. The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.
Amanda Gorman, Youth Poet Laureate
2021 Presidential Inauguration
