“Hope is a verb with its shirtsleeves rolled up.” – David Orr

Every year the same poem, the same
lament, the same sickness. What if

things don’t get better, merely more
tolerable? What if we lay down our

lives and nothing grows over us—
neither monuments nor trees, neither

killing fields nor strawberry fields?
What if the best we do is leave behind

a legacy like a ballad we all hum
but don’t know the words to?

Today a heavy rain falls through sunshine.
No matter our anguish, we expect a rainbow.

Monday, January 17, 2022