From a Grieving Heart

I rose to find myself
beneath an oatmeal sky.

The day was warm,
comfortable,

but
somewhere
over there

some time
anywhere

the ugly american
dressed in soil,
pain,
disease,
disgrace.

Ugly
gaining so much attention
slipping one or more
of horrid mores
between kindness and crags.

The beautiful American, in Rumania,
Russia, Japan, China, Mexico,
South America...
clothed in compassion,
faith, heart;
invisible, but to a few.
Reaching, caring
for the oppressed,
the orphan, the mired–
continues, only by God’s love,
to not lose heart.

I watch and weep
at what we see
of inhumanity
wishing the humane
might find its window for display.

©May 8, 2004