While Pouring Sugar

I pour white sugar for my coffee, let it flow as granulated crystals;

I pack my cart full of groceries, full of clothing, full of thrills.

I sit still for tiny moments, lit by lamplight, air is stale;

I calm my sorrows in the quiet, remember, everything is well.

Everything that ails me, every trifle, bland concern;

It means nothing to the memory of widows, lost at war.

It means nothing in the oceans that see above them rockets fly;

It means nothing to the orphan dreaming terror through the night.

My ache and plague, it is impatience, it’s submission to my want;

My lonely company is ungratefulness, it’s vanity, it’s harm.

But here now, my sights are lifted, I am cleared and yes, released;

I see the world about me, smell the stenches, see their feet.

They are bloodied by the running, days of longing for some rest;

And shelters do no good, nothing there revives the dead.

I cannot touch them, though I try to, try to read their eyes and scars;

But I cannot fathom a refugee, cannot displace my own proud heart.

But here, I’ll try to open it, try to crack the door ajar;

So I can taste the sorrow, taste humanity, taste these wars.

I need to see their hope in depth, their Trinity, their peace;

I need to see their beauty marks, to sit with them, to sing.

My coffee cup is empty, and my baby, there he sleeps;

When he wakes, I pray he’ll find me, see my sorrow differently.

My doors are opened, soul enlarged, and wide horizons stretch my view;

Remember, I am mother, I am sister, I am with you.

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