by Curt Hill 

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Another cold morning here.
I think of the unhoused,
Where do they go as the temperature
drops and the rains come?

Perched at a busy intersection along Black Lake Blvd,
a father and daughter
she reading A Wrinkle in Time –
he holding a cardboard sign – Anything Helps.

I wince at thoughts of who looks deserving,
who ought to be able to get good work.
I set my judgments aside and
commit to give unreservedly.

Don’t hold. Don’t cling. Don’t grasp.
Just let pass, like kernels of wheat
sifting through my fingers until
nothing is left but kindness.

This morning, I got up in the dark, the heat already on.
I dress for the day and
tuck in the corner of the comforter
that has come undone in the night.

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© Curt Hill 

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Curt‘s calling is people are connected to the miracle of life. He sees the miracle everywhere he looks, and is endlessly amazed and in awe of how life continues to unfold on this planet. While he has written on and off since being quite young, he is tackling the art and craft more seriously in the waning years of his 7th decade.

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