It was 1130 or so
We were sipping $6 lattes outside a cafe on Columbia
And staring at an embroidered RBG bag in a shop window
When a man appeared on a fifth floor balcony
Shouting, “It’s over!” and “They called it!”
We smiled beneath our masks and laughed
All of us, because in an instant we were community
And we all felt it
The dead orange weight evaporating.
As the cars started honking
The pots and pans clacking, clanging
And suddenly, women floated across the grass with flutes of champagne
There were billows of joy,
You could see it,
Like the steam on our $6 lattes
And all the smiles, behind the masks, and laughter,
All of us on the street, and from apartment windows,
Nah nah nah nah, hey, hey, hey, goodbye.
And: No time for losing cause we are the champions!
And the texts, from LA and Cairo, congratulations, mabruk, yay!
That turned into singing, hundreds, thousands of gleeful voices
And drums, and go-go, and dancing
You could hear it from miles,
All of us
And later, back at home, washing the dishes,
Scrubbing at the burnt bits of butternut squash and garlic
Scrubbing the stove, wiping down the granite counters,
I scrubbed so hard I could finally see
Beneath all the singing and dancing and honking
I went on scrubbing, until in the gleaming stone
I could see the reflection
Of another America, unconvinced, uncelebratory
And unmoved, still there
Still talking about fraud and stolen votes
And Clinton and Epstein’s child slaves
Cowering in the basement of the neighborhood pizza parlor
That has no basement.