My feet leave shallow pools in the damp strand
Where narrow beach meets overlapping waves
My shoes in my hands, the endless inland sea before me
Between my toes the rough damp sand
That says I’m home, the empty blue horizon
Stretching from familiar, manicured shore
Even when I cannot see it from
my privileged home- boring, safe, thriving
Elsewhere someone dares not remove
Even for a moment, her sand-filled shoes
To shake abrading torment from her toes
In case a transport rising from the chaos
leaves her stranded barefoot on the tarmac, watching
as it goes

Shared (late) to the dverse OLN of 8/19/21

6 thoughts on “Privilege

  1. I was thinking about this yesterday when I had to fly, and I really hate it. But what a privilege to be able to fly for leisure, to not depend on a flight for your life. I like that your poem examines this same contrast, from a different angle.

    • I was looking for a way to express exactly that, which I think a lot of us are feeling, when a friend gave me the prompt “toes” and it just sort of clicked.

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