We wanted even then
to change the world:

a daunting undertaking,
not to be accomplished

in a night, a week,
a season of marching

in the streets with banners
and bullhorns and signs.

But the teacher said, Start
with this place: your feet

on the soil, the feel
of fabric on your skin;

those high-pitched sounds
that could be the wind

or something human
unraveling; the knobbed

outline of a whelk
scored on your heart.

Until you know how the world
calls to you through every

broken thing, nothing
will change: nothing.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.