We are moving house soon.  In the midst of packing and envisioned arrangements, the privilege of such preoccupations takes my breath away.  Often, the mundane attending to everyday tasks of family life will unexpectedly elicit a sweeping sense of heartbreak when consciousness seizes upon the fact and fates of the many families and children in the world who are bereft of this sleepy normalcy we so recklessly take for granted.  We are not bombarded by missles and rubble, we do not despair over daily water and food, our children are not prevented from daydreaming about the simple pleasures of new gardens to plant and bookshelves to fill.

I am distraught by the unfeeling posturing on display by those who disdain to empathize with refugees, asylum seekers, and all immigrant peoples striving for the safety so crucial to being able to love, simply.   It is an incalculable error, with no ultimate gain.

I wrote a few verses trying to lay hold of the feelings:

As I watch over my children and read

in their faces the small

joys of near life

plans taking shape behind eyes

cast upon the assumption of somedays and possibility

my heart drops, leaden

by the somewhere knowledge

of other young eyes

scanning ruins, frightened lives