poems to myself-44

This is the day

it just might

all turn

around.

The day that eyes

open

wide

and so do

mouths.

Hungry for a food

that feeds

more than

this package of

tissue, bone, cells

and sorrow.

This may

be

a call to pray

before this sacred

plate

with the colors of

sustenance

becoming faces

the named and

nameless ones.

I watch us

stop

close up tight

like a bud

walk right through

the fragile dahlia

of each human

ecosystem –

trample a liver

just miss a stomach

land squarely on a

heart

continue crushing all the

gentle stalks

on our way

to

check our cell phone

answer an email

run a traffic light

make our mark

place our flag

where no one will be

standing

to see it.

 

 

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