70 year old Steve with a bum foot, who listened patiently to my righteous, indignant rant. "Check out Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto, " he suggested. Maybe someday, if and when I am back in the game again, homeless still...
The young Latina bundled head to toe in the MacDonalds at 6:30 a.m., with an obviously painful, wrapped up foot, limping, homeless still...
I have seen third world scenarios in one of the richest areas in this universe. It is heartbreaking--Is this why I am here Lord? To break open my heart, to experience a deep, deeper compassion?
In this most prosperous and selfish country of ours, whose leaders I am so disappointed in, so disappointed in the powers that be, in those who have established rigid 20th century doctrines and guidelines, whose walls have yet to crumble even as the current infrastructure is imploding...
The darling dark-haired boys with faces like cherubs
And souls just as sweet
Mexican Mama with her mellow temperment
Trudging off, down the road, next to the ferocious freeway,
Walking down the flashing- early morning- exhaust- filled Main Street
Getting her brood on the bus
Another day
Off to their school
Homeless still...
The fifty-something former nurse who can listen to all the varying
Coughs in the night
And pinpoint: pneumonia, whooping, flu, TB
She herself treads nearly barefoot on flipflops
Her mission for the day?
Chemo for breast cancer,
Homeless still...
Choking back the tears, plowing them asunder
You reap what you sew----Do you???????????
And so the tears flow
But as I press the MacDonald napkin to my face
I know that I have to suck them up RIGHT NOW,
To bite it
To come away from the sweet sorrow in my soul
Where, like a deep pool, the emotions swirl...
And face the day.
The drumbeat of my determined ambition
Not to sink below the dark waves
Propelling me ever forward
Like an ever-fragile, ever-flopping,
Ever- failing, ever- floating feather
In this never-ending whisper, breeze,
Tornado-
Tease of life. . .
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment