It’s odd
how we speak of society
as if it were something fragile
that the other side might break.
As if it isn’t already held together
by people who disagree.
The road does not ask
how I voted.
The lights do not dim
over doctrine.
Water runs
without checking allegiance.
Somewhere,
a stranger’s hands
steady my day
before I notice.
We have grown loud
about difference,
but quiet
about dependence.
Perhaps nothing collapses
all at once;
perhaps it happens
when we forget
how much of our living
is borrowed.
The table grows smaller
when we are "right."
I have felt that heat rise,
have watched the air thin between us
until the door closes
and stays closed.
So I step away
when the temperature climbs.
Not to sever,
not to score a point,
but to cool—
and to come back.
Not because I have surrendered,
nor because you have,
but because the conversation
is worth more than the moment.
© Ron Simpson Jr
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