I tried to listen this weekend to a
little coming out of Washington but
my ears couldn’t make out anything
that rang of compassion. So I quit.
Everyone on that hill they’ve died
on sings songs of themselves as
they preen in ornate empty mirrors.
The humane question where’s my
reflection? sadly never occurs.
Instead I tuned my ears to essentials—
the laughter of my gathered children,
and a playlist of hits from the 70s like
“Summer Breeze” and “Maggie May.”
These sounds reflect the image of a
world worthy of fierce attention, one
worth dying for. These sounds sane
me, reminding me of my true office.
Such sounds remind me why I am.