June 1 2020: We Are Ill

I am not a political person. I barely pay attention to the news. When my mind and imagination aren’t allowed to wander they are directed at the things immediately around me. I am, by and large, oblivious to the world around me. I am privileged to be able to be that way.

This poem is not one of my best examples of wordsmithing and the subject matter is not intended to be inflammatory. I want it to make us think. I want it to make us feel. I want it to compel us to open our eyes. Because we are not well right now as a nation, as one people under God, and we really need to examine why and think about how we can all be better.

Day 185: Sofa

A sofa might seem an odd thing to write a poem about, especially on July 4th but hear me out. Today’s poem is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine. He came to the United States on a student visa and has worked his tail off as a student and as a professional. He’s always kept his living light, just in case he had to leave.

He once confided in me that he had a dream of owning a sofa, because to him, a sofa is a symbol of permanence. You don’t buy a sofa for a place if you’re not sure you’re staying. Yesterday he got the great news. He’s staying and it’s time to shop for a sofa.

I say all of this today because I think it’s important to remember that we are a nation founded on immigration. The vast majority of United States’ citizens are the descendants of immigrants. Just check back a few generations.

Congratulations, my friend, and happy Independence Day, America.

Sofa