This poem wants to disturb your peace.

 

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This poem wants to disturb your peace.
Look around.  Like me you might not
see refugees or other home-
less people. Like me, you may feed
and house only your own little
family.  Like me, you may feel
happy to be privileged with
safety and permanency—you
may not know how fragile these are.
But it’s vital to know, vital
to rehearse the moment you will
lose everything.  So you have things
in place—a plan to meet your tribe,
a pack of supplies and tools like
screwdrivers, can openers, life
savers, safety pins, a change of
underwear, a blanket.  What else
is essential?  Photos?  Paintings,
pets and pet food, plants?  Pots and plates?
I will head north, where water is
plentiful and people friendly.
With my walker for balance, I
will look for smooth surfaces to
travel on, benches, cooked food, and
clean water, public bathrooms, and
toilet paper. I will look for
people who, staying home, will help
me on my way.  Me and others.
I picture a crowd, a stream of
walkers doing our best to stay
cheerful and energetic no
matter how little sleep, soap, soup,
and sweetness we discover. No
matter how welcoming or
hostile the borders are to us.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2024 Susan L. Chast