Climate Change
They are without clean water
mud lapping against their homes
they are lost and scared
after the storm ripped
from their hands
everything they ever had
to define themselves by.
They wait for him
to send help.
They wait for him
to arrive.
To hold them
and help them.
They wait for him to see them.
They check the air
for the hum of a plane,
hold phones up
for service
like a hand reaching skyward
for food
and water
and love
as they wade through the destruction
they wait for him
oh father,
benevolent one,
please hear us
they pray
they scream
till they are hoarse
They reach out
with tired hands
with frightened hearts
but their hands are the wrong color
and their votes do not count
and he is not coming
because
this
is not Texas.
--Ally Malinenko
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment