Some thoughts after our discussion group on Tuesday--and with a little nod to Emily Dickenson.

                    Hope


Make my hope a feathered thing--
A thing with wing enough,
          with strength enough,
To get beyond the grey
And skim the roof of cloud
                     to find the blue for you.

Not the convenient blinders
          of Wally and the Beav,
Not the blush of Hello Kitty Pink,
Not the spruced up sheen
                    of a new coat of paint
Or a lip glossed, sunny-side-up enthusiasm.
                              No.
I would be your window
          in a cramped and angry room,
I would be your paper at breakfast,
The lemon for your tea,
Your soft bed in a strange city.
Fish rising.
A herald.

If not a strong, rescuing grip,
At least then--
My voice a handhold,
          a lamp, a map.

I would be the thing with wings
                    like the one that Noah sent.
And returning,
          in its beak,
A bit of green.