Sunday, November 19, 2017


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
is not Texas.

--Ally Malinenko

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