Jubilee

It was a slow, quiet, and hectic January,
there was a crack in the door,
and that is how the light comes in.

The crack was a sickly sweet-ly citrus scent—
as if watching a line of wanderers enter fields of wisdom.
They had come with their cups and their mugs, 
with their plates and their jugs,
all so they could get a drop of sickly sweet-ly citrus scent.

But only if these wanderers fought for green,
and only if these wanderers were fought for dreams,
and only if the wanderers tried to see
the hole in which the light comes in.

And in this field of wisdom, these wanderers come to learn,
but Icarus only flew so high before there was nothing left for him to earn.
That sickly sweet-ly citrus scent, flows far and wide.

And the stars in your pockets will eventually burst, 
without such sweet sweet lies,
and only if you are so in need of thirst
will the wandering men see the hole in which the light comes in.

Fifty years had now passed; what was left before them?
The field had blossomed into a garden, 
weeds into flowers had sprouted,
the wanderers had turned into settlers,
the elders had come and go,
but many a moon still remains,
and the door had since closed.

such kindness is a low lit lantern,
integrity, soil that keeps our roots aligned,
all respect is a gentle rain that showers the garden—
each one a way of tending the light within


The light has always come from the wanderers themselves.
And that is where light comes in.
The sickly sweet-ly citrus scent remains in the air,
the wanderers are lucky ones—
for nothing will ever compare.

Poem by: Stephanie Brown, BSM Poet Laureate 2025