Things I Wouldn’t Have
Water out of a faucet,
light out of a lamp,
food out of a fridge,
a toilet to take my shit
if rockets
were raining down on my city.
A garden to plant,
a stereo to play,
a computer to game,
a chair in the sun
if I were hiding
in a subway.
A child to lift,
a partner to hold,
an elder to hear,
a front door to close
if tanks
were blasting my street.
Knowing
where I was going,
knowing
how I’d get there,
knowing
how I’d feed my children,
knowing
when I would eat,
knowing
when we’d be safe,
knowing
when we could sleep
knowing
if our loves
left behind
would survive,
knowing
where my home
will be.
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