“One Today” – An Inaugural Poem of National Unity
/In his Inauguration Day poem, Richard Blanco talks about the broad unity of this country and the forces that pull us together. He also names the little details of various Americans as they experience daily life and work. He mentions, as well, his own family: his brother, his mom, and his dad. It is a deeply personal poem, at the same time, a celebration of the strength, and beauty, and diversity of his adopted country.
With Richard’s kind permission, we have included the full text of the poem on this What’s Up? webpage. You can read along with him as you listen to the recording of Richard in Washington, DC on January 21, 2013. To help you understand his poem, we have listed the more difficult expressions and cultural concepts below the text. We would love to hear your reactions to the poem. Please share with us how Richard’s reading made you feel about country and belonging.
L to R: Michelle Obama, President Obama, Richard Blanco, Vice-President Biden, Jill Biden
“One Today”
Written by Richard Blanco for the 2nd Obama inaugural ceremony. Watch him reading here.
One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.
My face, your face, millions of faces in morning's mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper—
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives—
to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.
One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.
The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind—our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.
Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me—in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.
One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.
One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn't give what you wanted.
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.
New Vocabulary and Cultural Concepts
kindled = started a fire
Smokies = Smoky Mountains (southeastern U.S.)
Great Plains = the flat, open grasslands of the U.S. between the Rocky Mountains and the Mississippi
River (including the states of N. Dakota, S. Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas,
Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico)
charging = running/moving forward with speed and power
crescendoing = building to a peak, like the high part of a symphony
arrayed = spread out, arranged
teeming = actively full of, alive with motion
ledgers = accounting books
ring up groceries = work as a grocery cashier
vital = important, crucial, alive
“I have a dream” = the name of Martin Luther King’s famous speech about equality for all Americans
twenty children = the elementary school victims of a mass shooting in Newtown, Connecticut in 2012
stained glass windows = multi-colored windows of a church
sown = planted
gleaning = harvesting, collecting
trenches = long, vertical holes dug for laying cables and pipes in the ground
plains = large, flat, wide, open fields
mingled = mixed together
din = loud, continuous mixture of noises (as in a city)
screeching = loud, high-pitched noise
clothes line = the rope in people’s yards for air-drying freshly washed laundry
squeaky = the noise made when metal is rubbing with friction (without oil)
shalom = hello in Hebrew
buon giorno = hello in Italian
howdy = hello in rural or cowboy talk
namaste = hello in Hindi
buenos días = hello in Spanish
Appalachians = Appalachian Mountains (eastern U.S.)
Sierras = Sierra Mountains (western U.S.)
worked = moved, flowed
stitching = sewing, repairing
wound = cut, injury
Freedom Tower = new building in New York City to replace the fallen Twin Towers
jutting = sticking out, pushing forward
yields = gives way
resilience = ability to not give up, strong persistence
gloss = shine
plum = purple
dusk = moment between daylight and nighttime
constellation = group of stars in the sky
