Seven weeks and it’s harder
to care than ever –
what will it take for the apathy
to crack? For commuter rage
to mix with race/class/gender
and become riots at the bus stops?
But I hold hope like a skipping stone
in the crook of my finger.
You could mistake it for a white power
symbol but for the gleam
emanating out from the circle
formed by index and thumb.
For now we’ll say it’s OK,
this hope, this nest, these hands.