Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Comfort in the Chaos

A poem for Fay Scott


Sitting in faint light
of the kitchen,
classes hover on your nose.


Windows open like extended arms
enveloping the slight breeze of the day.


You prepare all within this house
with your prayers.


We sleep like weary travelers,
but really, you've seen the world.


Still,
constant as the intense sun.
You pray.


Honking motorcycles grumble angrily
outside the metal gate.
You pray.


Dust filters through the screens
like sifted flour,
settling and cluttering
corners of the house.
You pray.


Nightgown stuck like a wet suit,
sweat trickling by 5 a.m.
Humid weight of the Cambodian air.
You pray.


Safe, but
never totally peaceful.
Sleep, but
never really rested.


Teetering on edge
between fear and contentment.


Hope in a junkyard
of confusion and isolation.
Clutter you can't ignore.
And yet,
you pray.

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