Hopeless

To hear the mourning doves in the tall pines,
the twitter of finches and pine siskins at our feeders,
watch squirrels scamper after seeds
that fall on our dark-spotted snow-quilt,
is watching the metronome of February.

A walk along the peaceful snow-lanes
of Schoenbrun Trail takes me far away
from the blood and chaos
of the streets of Gaza and Peshawar.
My distance walls me off from any connection.

I sit down and listen to Mozart
and fill my plate with steaming food.
Far away mothers are lulling their hungry babies
to sleep with sips of water.
They cannot venture out onto their sewage-soaked
streets or face the angry eyes of neighbors.
She looks at the sky, hoping to see me,
or millions like me who could help.
I look to the sky hopelessly,
’cause I don’t know how?