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Swallowing trees.
I like you better now like this, barren and skeletal
and just as imposing.
Foreigners and locals sunbathing,
tourists and the homeless.
I wonder if they continue to seek shelter here,
even during the bitter winters,
coughing up blood as they scoop snow off the benches.
I’ve read of muggings and murders
taking place on the winding paths and
I am ashamed that people would taint your splendor.
I’m sorry.
Swinging and laughing, chasing and racing,
there are children everywhere,
nimbly avoiding cars and horses’ hooves.
Thankfully the sweet, sweet smell
of roasted nuts is masked by the scent
of trees, squirrels, and people.
It smells like earth.
I hope to return in ten years and discover
that your greatness has been preserved.

Can I just say right now that I really do understand?
That I comprehend so much more than I let on?
There is nothing you can confess that will shock me.
Admissions of anxiety will perhaps make you feel better,
‘Coming clean’ so to speak is a common therapeutic tool.
I will return the honesty by disclosing that your words are unnecessary.
I knew before you spoke what you wanted to say,
And I will listen intensely nonetheless and try to alleviate any pain.

The thing is, there are still civil rights issues going on right now.
The thing is, pride and loyalty are no longer ingrained at day one.
The thing is, we are united by soil, by language, by schooling, even something as simple as sports, but we are not all united.
The thing is, there is still slavery.
Yesterday I heard a man say that yes, human trafficking is real and it is bad and it is hard to fathom slavery existing in our country or in our world. But then he went on to say that in the grander scheme, it is a small thing in such a large planet. Also, he believes we are all slaves. Someone clarified, asking if he means we are all enslaved by the "grind", the "drudge", our lives, and he concurred.
I lifted my head up from my book, not able to tune him out. I looked around the room at the seven of us who were so, so very fortunate to be celebrating our country's Independence Day with friends, in a beautiful home next to the ocean, with food stacked all over the kitchen and dining area, and with families we can call whenever we want. And I told him in a clear, bold voice, "We are not slaves. We have no idea what it is like to be slaves. And we should never forget it."
The thing is, we are blessed to live in this country.

The thing is, people riffle through our trash. Once a week, usually the evening before trash day, one or more persons will pull mishmash out of the bins, looking for the "good stuff". Now, the "good stuff" can be any number of things, and ultimately is dependent on the looter of the week. It varies from bottles and cans, to food leftovers, to even magazines or catalogues. I am accustomed to returning home from a long night, in the darkest of darks, to perilously climb up the steps over polka dots of trash.
However, last week I came home in the early evening and was astonished into out loud laughter to find a pregnancy test on the stairs. I stood there, with this look of incredulity splashed with upraised eyebrows of curiosity with just a tinge, yes, of schadenfreude, and I didn't know what to do. Apparently it had been out in the sun for some time, and the telltale dashes or pluses or colors were no longer visible. Though I suppose without the appropriate instruction pamphlet I probably would not have been able to interpret it anyway. I looked up for some answers. Not up to Heaven, but up to the top apartment where a gaggle of twenty something girls live. Immediately my mind started racing with the possible outcomes.

Why don't you volunteer?
Why don't you pencil in an hour a week, an hour a month even, to volunteer?
I don't think it is because you don't care.
You care; I think highly of you, often look up to you, so I know you must care.
Part of you anyway.
Laziness. I think even you will admit that is part of it, though no-one actually wants to claim Lazy out loud, and certainly not while others are present. It takes research, and forethought, and EFFORT. Sometimes it seems so daunting. Too much work to exert all that effort.
Time. Right. At the risk of sounding fractious, I challenge that you have just as little spare time as the gal sitting next to you, or the guy who took your order. This is America, after all, where we are greedy for time like a faded ten dollar bill we see between the rails. Work, Gym, Morning Run, Dinner with Friends, Show at the Fillmore, Homework, new Bar in the Mission, Dogs to Walk, Yoga, Farmers' Market, Grocery Shopping, Rainbow Shopping, Clothing Shopping-your birthday is coming up after all, Film Night in the Park, Writers' Group, Womens' Group, Couples' Group, Therapy, Group Therapy, Retail Therapy, Overtime, Movies, a new book, LOST, Reality TV, DVRed shows, and of course, down time. Time for you, which you deserve since life is constantly dishing it out and sometimes you need to unbuckle and relax.
For sure time, or lack thereof, is going to be near the top of the Family Feud answer box, 32 points.
And I get it, of course I get it.
But you want to know something else?
Do you want to know what I think?
The main reason?
Experience.
Not in giving, because I am sure if we drew up a giving resume right now we could scrabble together a list of stuff in the past-Missionary trips in high school, feeding the homeless on Turkey Day, maybe even tutoring a fellow student.
Experience.
I think it is because you grew up without ever being on the receiving end of a volunteer's time and gifts.
A Privileged Knoll