for Dr. Kimberly Brown
I doubt it will
feel different at first.
Your car will sound the same
as you turn its silver key.
Your cat will crawl upon
your lap and stretch and sleep.
I don’t know that the
grocery clerks will recognize
you as you sack your milk and bread,
and surely, the neighbors will
think nothing of you collecting mail
or watering the hanging plants.
But the next time you slide
into a bookstore or library
and parade their heavy aisles,
the next time you thumb through
prose, poetry, or criticism,
you will know that you are among them—
a creator, constructor, conspirator, conductor.
You will know that
you are allowed into their secret meetings,
able to knock their secret knock.
And sure, the Toms and Alices of this
one-wheeled world won’t see,
but what have they ever suspected of the
greatness that wells within you?