Snapshots; Sandra Rivers-Gill
I see you stationary on invisible, intersections of life. You are holding a menu of lack. Sometimes the crime of where you have not been is enough to get you ignored when you are sitting at an empty table. It is not a fable that you stir your options in hot water resembling the taste of soup, but the broth of catsup fills your cup of hunger, as your mind picks at the thought of diving into a smorgasbord that is hesitate. Fare? It is not an entrée you desire to snare.
I see you dressed for success, but the yes in your face is re-placed by a struggling grip of wheel that cuts back on a job that is not there. Your pockets bare all, but the threads that slip through your fingers like the change you want to see but not listen to its hollow speech as you reach with a desperation of hope in front of you. You never knew the famine fuming in your tank could not be cashed at any bank. In fact, you make deposits of depression at your own discretion.
I see you thirsting for more than blight in your bowl. The toll of your night has not been as sweet as the treat of dipping cookies in cold milk. The trick of crumbs floating to the top cannot quench your crummy situation. Because we live in a nation where divergence is a depiction, your life is not science fiction but like a child you play tag with your food as the mood of your belly swells from the dust of mud-cakes. It is baked into a recipe that rules after the pang of hunger has drooled you.
I see you because I see myself, a reflection of who you are when I look in a mirror. I see clearer, when I understand that I am one situation away from holding a menu of lack; praying that my family stays intact. I am just a blur in the rush of traffic that won’t see me standing at intersections of introspection. I am just one boxed dilemma away from carrying the weight of pantry shelves into my home of fleeting heat. I am just one crumpled dollar away from a benevolent car window and one snapshot away from being hungry today.