And if we are but a collective hunch
the only fundamentalist is Science.
I just drank my coffee.
Before that I put some milk in it.
So now I am all who I was before I drank my coffee with milk in it plus that coffee and that milk.
One hour ago, part of me was in a carton in the refrigerator.
Another part was waiting to be ground.
Last week I sat in the grocery store.
The day before that I rode on a truck.
Last season I was sweating on a bush in Brazil till I was picked with other black beans—you always knew I was part black—or settling in a cow on an upstate farm—you always knew I was part white.
Before that I grew up out of the ground, green and fresh, yet so upright, waiting to be gnawed and chewed and digested a few times.
Green, white, black, we’ve all been many colors.
And before that I lay underground as grains of soil that fed the grass.
At the very same time, I was floating in the sky before the rain when I fell to quench the soil that fed the grass that became the milk in the cow which I’ve now drunk in my coffee from Brazil.
And I at last have become this me who will never be the one I was before I drank the coffee with milk from the bush in Brazil and the cow on the farm upstate.
And, as I breathe, in a hundred years, a thousand, a hundred thousand, or a thousand thousand,
whatever this might mean in thought and deed,
I shall be everywhere, and everything, and everyone
just like you
A woke friend in a wide brimmed hat, through a fog of incense, below a dream catcher, above a mound of tie-dye rugs, told me that anger was bad for me, even in short bouts, and that I must quell it with every bit of might as if it were a spark …