Poetry

What Would You Do If You Were Me — in a Life of Poverty

A poetic plea

I see your knees Trampling past My spot upon the pavement

Defined by your shoes The shiny ones pick up their pace And hurry by The worn heels And ragged sneakers Stop and Drop a coin or two

Are you blind Do you not see me So low in life

Am I invisible

When I miss The queue for A hot mug of soup Do you hear my cries of hunger In the night

Are you deaf Or have I learned to sob in silence For shame of being heard

If I ask for sanctuary Will you answer Are my vocal strings so broken Larynx and dry tongue I cannot articulate the question

Are you dumb Or will you speak for me And all humanity

Set us free From poverty

The bare bones of this poem came to me toward the end of my morning meditation.

I was contemplating how homelessness has increased during this pandemic with millions more people pushed into unemployment and poverty.

The figures are so staggering we become desensitized. As the numbers increase, our capacity for compassion diminishes. Paul Slovic, a psychologist at the University of Oregon, calls this phenomenon “psychic numbing”.

My partner and I hovered on the edge of homelessness three years ago so I can speak to the terror and shame the prospect of living on the street provoked.

I call on us to remember these are individual lives, not statistics.

Thank you for being here.

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