How did you do it
my ancestral poets?
How did you feel this world so completely
when the gentle and the kind suffer
while the greedy and mean run so many things?
How did you embrace this world
where war in all its forms spreads like fire
where self-delusion and distraction trump noticing
where exploitation, rape and weapons are just good business?
How do you do it
girls crouched and running through the rubble?
Parents burying found pieces of your children?
How do you give anything more to this world
when so much of you has been taken
when fear, rage and despair are your closest neighbors
when you cannot muster even the smallest desire to reconcile—
not even for your God?
How do you do it
sisters and brothers?
How do you stay with the terrible yet hold on to the gentle?
How do you turn an open face into the horror yet also replenish your soul?
How do you thrive while holding so much pain?
I’m actually asking.
Fuck poetry.
Today I am so drained by what I feel
that I stand stuck, muddy,
exhausted, almost motionless.
Holding nothing more than my own heartbeat
creating nothing more than my own self,
softly, from within.
