I
watched a mini-documentary last night about living on a dollar a day in Central
America and how hard that is to do. It is barely living as so much of the world
does. I thought back to my time in North Africa, The Philippians, and Papua New
Guinea---seeing such poverty.
I
often forget here in my office with my cozy space heater, full belly, and clean
water that anything like that exists. I think of my World Vision sponsor child
in Malawi too and how I haven’t been as faithful in encouraging him and his
village as I just write a check every month.
Poverty
is devastating on so many levels. I see the tents around Seattle, under the
bridges, and so many people begging and it makes me weep. What can we do? This
poem doesn’t get at all those thoughts swirling around, but I hope it conveys
some of the feelings.
That All Men Are Created Equal
Living
below the poverty line
As
if there was a rope
Suspended
above huts
And
somewhere above
On
a city sidewalk
There
was no rope
But
solid steel framed
No
leaks
No
floods
Polished
floors
No
dirt
No
hunger
Ten
times more than enough
Slide
down the earth
Falling
out of the city
Or
around it
Below
tall buildings
Is
a rope
That
isn’t to help
Those
off the sidewalks
Or
out of the tents
Off
to the side of highways
It
is roping out
An
area where
We
keep
The
have nots
The
want nots
The
invisible
They
reach for the rope
But
it slips through their fingers
What
if a window from those tall buildings
Opened
and let down a sturdy rope?
To
tie onto the one that cuts across hope
And
it lifted up the line
And
with it, those that could not stand
Would
stand under it
And
reach up
Holding
on
To
ride on other’s strength
As
we pulled
And
brought them to their feet
And
kept pulling
Until
they were climbing in the window
To
have
To
be desired
That
we saw each other
They
use the strength of being lifted
To
rise up
Rise
up, oh man
And
lift up, oh woman
To
tie knots in the poverty line
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