Thursday, April 7, 2016


Attending a meeting to end world hunger 
is required. Letters to congressmen 
are suggested. Donations encouraged.
As a group we walk silently to let 
the stories of suffering ones sink
in. Faces are solemn --
looking noble and progressive and socially

I'm angry. I never have liked things 
shoved down my throat. Nothing penetrates. 
Instead of writing a letter to my congressman,
I write this to remind myself to stand 
firm and committed to 
the better and harder thing: to treat the suffering
person across the table, across the room,
across the street - with love and offer them
nourishment both tangible and emotional. 
Right here, right now, there are hungry
and wounded ones who need attended to. 
Don't tell anyone I'm one of those. 
But it's not as easy as writing a check
or sending a letter. It isn't quick either.
It takes consistent chunks of energy 
and time. It can't be checked off a list
nor can one brush their hands together 
with a satisfied smack. The results aren't countable 
statistics, data to prove in print. The rewards
aren't forthcoming. Sometimes we don't know
the end of the story - because it isn't written
yet. But I persist in believing one person
loving one person at a time works. 

Why is the suffering
in some other place more appealing 
than the eyes hoping to catch ours 
two feet away? 

No comments: