Beatific by Tracy K. Smith

 

Beatific

By Tracy K. Smith

I watch him bob across the intersection,
Squat legs bowed in black sweatpants.

I watch him smile at nobody, at our traffic
Stopped to accommodate his slow going.

His arms churn the air. His comic jog
Carries him nowhere. But it is as if he hears

A voice in our idling engines, calling him
Lithe, Swift, Prince of Creation. Every least leaf

Shivers in the sun, while we sit, bothered,
Late, captive to this thing commanding

Wait for this man. Wait for him.

Attention to the stranger crossing any road in any town or city; patience with the awkward encounter, the unknown intention; respect for the other whom you do not know, but with a slightest stretch of mind, imagine you do. Tracy K. Smith’s unforgettable poem from “Wade in the Water” feels so potent right now. The pedestrian sees himself one way — hears his own music in those engines idling for him — but who doesn’t? Take it easy. I am thunderstruck by the human care of these last lines. Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye