Crossroads of Arrival: New Faces

Lyrics

Little cart, you and I.
We roll past the old maps.
Down this aisle.
The fluorescent lights hum a new language.
Here, the cilantro is piled high next to the lemongrass.
A woman in a sari is weighing mangoes.
A man is asking for masa harina in Spanish.
I remember when this was just... something else.
A drug store, maybe.
With long, quiet aisles.
Now the air is thick with cardamom and fish sauce.
You feel it too, don't you?
Your wire basket, vibrating.
This is the new heartbeat.
The crossroads of arrival.
Not on a map they drew in 1910.
But here, on the Buford Highway frontage road.
Where Peachtree Road learns a different rhythm.
These new faces are the city, now.
This is the city, now.
We drive out onto Ashford-Dunwoody.
The old signs are down.
A window promises Ethiopian coffee, another one, pho.
I think of October fifteenth, that day in the park.
The smell of chorizo and curry in the same breath.
Someone sold Kimchi-Q Tacos.
And everyone stood in line.
Everyone.
Smiling at the strange, beautiful taste.
This is the new heartbeat.
The crossroads of arrival.
Not on a map they drew in 1910.
But here, on the Buford Highway frontage road.
Where Peachtree Road learns a different rhythm.
These new faces are the city, now.
This is the city, now.
That cool morning, December first.
They unrolled the new paper census.
Just numbers and lines, trying to catch up.
Trying to name what we already knew.
Brookhaven, you're not what you were.
You are what you are becoming.
In the multilingual story time at the library.
In the ESL class on a Tuesday night.
A thousand quiet beginnings.
Little cart, you carry it all.
The weight of what was, the spice of what is.
Keep rolling.
Keep rolling.