Steady as I can
on my wire of awareness,
I carefully balance the images
of children dying in Yemen
with gratitude for my own dear son.
Every ten minutes in Yemen,
malnutrition takes a life, because
besides the daily bombings from Saudi,
food and medicine is blockaded.
I let the picture of the baby
mostly bones, her diaper bigger than she is,
have space to bloom in my mind.
What else do I have to give her?
Only my acknowledgment, my bow.
Gently as I’m able while I sway,
I carry her precarious self
and make my Thanksgiving plans.
Saudi Arabia’s big bro backer
makes sure there are weapons and money
to keep up the bombing and blockade.
Maybe you know the patron government
comes from the country whose settlers
survived, one winter, on the generosity
of the natives whose land they were taking.
As I feast with my friends
and give thanks for my bounty
I proffer to those who hunger,
my essential recognition–
I do not deny you, I see you,
and my prayer that the babies’ bellies
stop throbbing and aching and craving.
May global change in human hearts
connect us into the One
we are surely meant to become.