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.
– Julene Tripp Weaver