Tomorrow all of us dance

A poem for Pride

Photo by Tong Su on Unsplash

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Happy Pride to all of my most fabulous friends and relations. In and out, living and dead, partnered and single, dancing and crying and dancing while you cry … you’re astonishing, each and all of you.

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MARKET STREET, THE DAY BEFORE THE PRIDE PARADE                        2012


Just the rainbow flags, arcing
in the breeze above the heads
of the Saturday tourist-scatter; 

dappled stripes that only brighten           
the sky’s blue, the greens of downtown trees,
straight and small among silver high-rises

stacked like giant speakers tuned
to boom back every downbeat tomorrow,
when the street fills with dancing. 

Rage has filled this street, other days; 
shouts and silent vigils, funeral marches, and not 
for the last time — but tomorrow, say the flags,

tomorrow, and not for the first time, we dance;
and yes, say the boombox high-rises, yes,
say the trees and the sky and the city, yes, 

tomorrow,
all of us 
dance. 

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I’m not often downtown in my city — usually only when I’m on the way out of town and need to switch from one public transit system to another. Being among the skyscrapers always makes my pulse pick up a little, and that was especially true the day this poem found me: a Saturday in June, summer breeze catching the flags, the district quiet but tingling with anticipation of the next day’s party.

In case you were wondering, this is not a coming-out post for me, except maybe in terms of geography.¹ I’m boringly, kind of incompetently heterosexual, and honestly not much of a dancer. I’ve just lived long enough to know that anywhere love and welcome and community are at work is sacred ground … including a storied, messed-up, beautiful city where every now and then people fill up the streets dancing with whomever they love, and everyone’s invited to the party.

1. iykyk. 🌉