Salut dear loves,

It’s 9: AM, the sky is a florescent tinge giving an untouched glow to the 46th st. station in Philadelphia. Trains, trolleys, tragedy and triumph littered with those in transition. People charge upstairs to the platform to confront daily rituals and the indefinite. Small children laugh at the exhilaration of newness and cry at the tempo not permitting them to stop and experience the world they notice. I see a collective turning on their personal axis. Amid the echo of footsteps and the revving of the day like a latent engine, I hear food stamps, Katrina, child support, rent, the unemployment rate and the wisdom of endurance, discussed by elders of this particular struggle, this peculiar world misunderstood and misrepresented.

Discarded moments disconcert in the hum of a vacant beverage container, graffiti embraces brick and mortar in the building directly across from me. A deli and pizzeria (two of a list of things that have become a staple in the appearance of this city) share what has been address to many previous American dreamers. Painted on nearly every corner is the indication of such, generations of citizens working to fashion a heritage by contributing their culture, labor and identity to the composition of these United States. A melting pot that dreams out loud overshadowing the hand that governs them. In the wake of this morning we are products of an American dream gone bankrupt, but in my travels I’ve found some of the happiest souls in the most insolvent places and at this level of freedom, hope is much more than a campaign slogan.

Below the train overpass rests men and women waiting for their vulnerable entry into a society that grants little space for the needy. Those at the mercy of such a society find themselves at the mercy of a harmony so detached from “we the people”. The individualistic nature of capitalism has spilled over our levies and washed away our “love thy neighbor”. The redemptive quality of us presents itself in the communal outcry against the neglect and careless abandon that has plagued our leaders for decades. Social sites have taken priority. Many of us continue each day with little or no authentic physical human contact at all, no voice to this unspoken world of disconnect. On my walk past vacant homes, store fronts, parks and schools I wrote “The beauty in the stranger is the beauty in you.”

Armed with a recorder, camera, pen and notepad, I stand obverse a stop sign tarnished by occasion, motion and abandon attentively being educated by the brash beauty of the day waiting for my go.

Te V. Smith | Contributor

Te V. Smith is a poet, musician, writer and singer who has shared stages, studios and street corners with the likes of HBO, VH-1, Current TV, and several European Colleges and Universities.

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