I read The New York Times–
Rocks and hard places
around the world
children and us
Starving
dying
murdered
between
rocks and hard places—
My face in my hands.
I think of my mother, my father, myself—
we all have lived
between rocks and hard places
from time to time—
But now, now—
It is all rocks,
it is all hard places.
For all.
–It has been raining here
for over a week
unusual
in this high desert.
The rain a result of storms
off the western coast of Mexico.
The mountains, like ancient grandmothers,
shroud themselves in clouds
as if mourning
all of us
caught between
rocks and hard places.
This world–
where a thirteen-year-old boy
says, “I have no one. I have nothing,”
in answer to the choice
of voluntary departure or a removal order
issued by an immigration judge–
should not contain such rocks and hard places.
This world–
where a diabetic has been cut
from health insurance programs
and rations out what is left of her insulin
to afford gas to get work and feed her kids–
should not contain such rocks and hard places.
This world–
where a farmer must let his crops rot
since he cannot afford the diesel fuel
to harvest those crops without losing money–
should not contain such rocks and hard places.
This world–
where a young girl’s future
is never considered important
as that of the man or men
who have brutally assaulted her–
should not contain such rocks and hard places.
I want a world
without
rocks and hard places
for my grandchildren,
for all children–
a world of plenty
of peace
of acceptance–
where no one needs stand upon another
to feel bigger or better,
where no one’s worship
is the only way to worship,
where care for each other
is placed above the dollar—
perhaps not a perfect world,
but a world
where we do not create
rocks and hard places
for people
to live between.
