it’s warm inside. stew simmers on the stove i walked the dog in the snow and he shivered in his sweater inside now he lies on the floor, ears perked up comes over to see me lies down at my feet.
off in the kitchen, the radio talks voices drifting in from afar with grave news so many graves these days suicide bombers in Kabul blowing up buildings with the strength of their rage. serial killer in seattle planting bodies in flowerbeds like seeds from which nothing but tears will grow. the radio’s voice is calm but heavy with all the tragedy it brings.
here it is warm, safe, happy, and in through the cracks streams the news like polluted water. it floods if you let too much in. the rising water is hard to ignore. and inside i’m warm. inside these walls i am happy. safe. well-fed. how can i live so well when the blood seeps in through the cracks across the world.
i want to give them all a home. every teenage refugee, every baby, every mother, every father. i hope that somewhere other side of the Veil, everyone killed by terror has a bed. a warm meal. and maybe a dog.
this poem is inspired by despair, guilt, and current events. my life is really good, i'm very fortunate to live where and when i do. i have everything, and i realize that, especially when i hear the news of violence everywhere. it's hard feeling like all i can do is listen and learn and hope someday we make better mistakes than these. hope that someday there's less blood on the ground.