As we edge into November, the month of my birth, it seems a suitable moment to feature this free-verse poem, written several years ago, but equally topical today.
BIRTHDAY POEM
A bad-news day, so typical
of what we, daily, learn to call
normality.
Another war, a bomb outrage,
an earthquake,
a hurricane,
a virus rampant, uncontrolled,
another routine genocide,
the usual starving dispossessed
with hands outstretched
in supplication.
Another day. So swiftly now
discarded hours, like autumn leaves,
accumulate. So we grow old.
Another birthday.
Earnestly, I tell myself,
be unafraid;
believe that, daily, hope sustains,
that, by some grace, tranquility
will fill the earth like sudden flowers;
that, somehow, love will be enough.
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