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.
