Day 27: The Beginnings of Things

thousands were crushed in Nepal

while I worried about my flight schedule.

God.

I don’t know how long a person can live on rice and dirty water.

other people know that.

schoolchildren huddle under desks boom ratatat.

I stuff three quarters into a baggie labeled “ice cream money.”

God.

a few weeks ago my fair golden girl asked me

as she brushed her fluoridated teeth

she asked

are there still slaves?

so many, hon.  

people throw bricks because nothing ever changes

nothing ever changes.

someone is dying.

God have mercy.

I write these things and strike them through

because I am ashamed.

because to write is not to feed a child

or to stand in the way of a gun

or to pull a body out of the rubble.

but I write them again.

because

because

words are the beginnings of things.

please God.

words must be the beginnings of things.

let indignation begin here,

because dignity is not a high-priced brand name commodity

to keep on the top shelf away from the riffraff

it has no nationality

no race

no gender

no sexual orientation

and no religion

and how dare we

how dare we

how dare we treat it like it does?   

let compassion begin here,

because for God’s sake

people are suffering

whole futures lost

universes dimming in half-closed eyes

there is food on my table

and none on yours

there is paint on my door

and blood on yours

there is sun in my sky

and fire in yours

and there is no

there is no

there is no good reason for that.

who will set this right?

I dull myself lull myself with the lie

that all I can do is nothing.

but I can make words.

and words are the beginnings of things.

you think because there are earthquakes the sunshine doesn’t matter?

you think because there are bombs the roses shouldn’t bloom?

that's despair dressed in realism’s tattered robes;

that’s the chain that binds us to the slowly turning earth;

that will kill you without lifting a finger

and that will get us all nowhere.

do not despair.

find the beauty that reminds you what to fight for.

the light that streams through a cracked and broken pane ignites more hope than undiluted sun.

the rose that lifts its head out of the ashes cuts a bright red peephole out of a monochrome present.

humanity deserves better than it’s getting

and you are the giver,

and the receiver,

and the gift.

begin something.