We went through things had an upswing
when we believed
in love        and goodness,
and the world         wasn’t such an unsafe space.

We could ignore        the riff raff believe we were
doing good with our small donations        our
pity poems, the way we acknowledged the problems.
We drank        lattés during meetings        we made rules

lost in archives. Now, miles from a bright future
we buckle in the wind        surprised at the swindle
how much slid away,        how wrong we were
about what might have been right.        No, it was never

but we held hope        a feather in the wind        falling
into gutters        where a storm rages        and the homeless
live against weather,        with        wet socks and cold feet
that atrophy with their loss of circulation.

There are so many    traumas        to contend with
to caress and hold close but out of sight this work
we do        endless a battle for our salt for our pittance,
what we should give to be here.        For we hold this world,

our corner, together, sweep     our gutters and give hand-
outs        more than we are able,        we fall behind     bruised
yet must rise        from each stumble       pray        the next
generation will take on     washing        the feet of those

who’ve walked miles        we behoove them       pay forward
for what        has been inherited.      Yes, it is a mess
with many     to blame.        Years of serious backlash
to weather, but keep standing        find the footholds.