Poem: Selfish Vantage Points


Child blowing

 

Beeping, tapping, leaning
On the gray, nebulous box
Spits out paper, curled and fancy,
Looks like fun, or so I thought.

Spinning, shaking, sweating,
On the tall, angry structure,
Her soul looks brighter here
With friends, no fear, no rupture.

Hallowed voices, countless chores
The context argues, scary or peaceful?
She comes in and she’s nervous again,
Cut off, closed in by all God’s people.

Counting white lines and yellow lights,
The green signs glow in the seas of night
I don’t trust the flame that burns the white,
Yet she guides us home with faith, not sight.

The walls could use more color,
The room could use more toys,
But she’s at her best here,
Far beyond stress, events, the noise.

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