Sanctuary is in the air—
a sibilant chorus of threat
and promise—now that almost one tenth
of our earth’s population roams.
Uprooted homelessness comes with
and I find myself glued to the news
where images arise as truth.
From where I live, I cannot see
the needy hoards directly. Threats
have neither prompted me to leave
home nor to open up my doors.
But just in case, I’ve filled water
bottles and packed my get-away
backpack. And just in case, I’ve laid
out my disguise, layers of clothes.
I’m weaning myself from pain meds
in case my prescriptions are lost.
I’m hoarding my supply to share—
in case that could be a mercy.
I'm forcing late seedlings for food
and air and beauty now that I’m
learning what sanctuary could
be for my two cats and for me.
In this apartment we call home
we have windows and doors to come
and go, and we have entries to
our soul through eyes open and closed.
We meditate alone, but touch
to sing our songs. Like them, I nap
lightly, I sniff the air with mouth
ajar, and my skin, like fur, responds.
For Sumana's Prompt
My blog poems are rough drafts.
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