The silver light floating through
the frost on her window
reminds her of something pure and hopeful
like sun rising over the ocean or
whales singing beneath it
her baby's first morning cry
reminds her of her own heart
beating in rhythm to something new
she cradles the baby close
while the cat rubs against her legs, purring
insisting that it, too, be fed
and she is glad to feed them both,
glad she can alleviate at least
this much hunger in the world
she turns on the radio, skips over the news station,
and leaves it on something classical
while she pulls on a red sweater
to keep her warm and bright
against the cold light of day
which envelopes her as she steps outside
the baby is a very small burden, she thinks
as she places it in the car
looking back to see the cat staring at her,
with old woman eyes, from the window
the car radio blares about homelessness and hunger
about war and recession, about loss and corruption
"don't listen, baby," she says,
"the world is notreally such a bad place." and turns it off
the silence that fills the car is comforting
like a blanket of snow over the city
and she luxuriates into it
she inhales the silence deep within her being
and lets it feed her empty soul
when she stops at a red light,
a man with gaunt eyes taps against her window
his sign says he is hungry
and she is reminded of her days in India
when she was a beggar, hungry for truth
she turns her face from the man
knowing that hunger is beating on the face of America now
hunger is beating on every door
the baby is making happy sounds in the back seat
oblivious to the hunger sweeping America
not just the hunger of the belly, which can be fed,
but the hunger of the spirit,
which grasping greedy men try to fill with more of everything
and never can.
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