For My Friends Who Can't Sleep Because of the State of the World
(after reading Mary Oliver)
Dear stars, who just happen to be where we are in the universe,
we get no credit for our placement
but neither are we guilty.
That we wake each morning to sunshine
in a safe house, that we bake bread and eat it,
walk barefoot in the wet grass, cutting flowers
to put in a blue vase,
is a pure and simple blessing.
My sisters grieving for the hungry and lost,
rather give thanks in whatever way you choose,
whatever way you can, for your spot
in the constellations of stars.
Bless the ducks on the muddy pond
with crusts from your hands thrown.
Bless the neighbor stuck on the road
with the use of your cell phone, the old lady
who falls at the gym by holding her hand,
stroking her soft freckled skin until she can stand.
Sign the petition, call the senator, stand
silently for peace with the women in black
on the overpass on Thursday afternoons,
hold the suffering in your heart, but don't,
don't shoot down in the huge eternal sky.
Keep to the place you were blessedly given.
Let no blessing be wasted in sorrow.
Rejoice in the green, green air.
