(journal, 31 January 2019)
I had a dream this morning that was difficult.
I was at a school I’ve been before.
There were people there,
but the overall feeling was impersonal and unfriendly.
I had finished with my errand there, and was looking for the car.
I was in an open staircase next,
up several stories and not enjoying the height.
Nearly down, I came upon a starving child.
The child was is real,
there were yellow sores,
the child looked at me. I had nothing,
I walked by.
Then there were more children to see, near me and off toward the building.
All were seated cross-legged,
dark, small, open mouths, eyes—irises—covered over in viscera.
Too weak for crying or much movement at all.
sat and, as I neared,
looked at me.
I guess it was a nightmare. Except
that there is such need in the world.
I am having breakfast now, continental-style.
Croissants and coffee.
How guilty should I feel?
I need to eat. I need to drink and
for now can afford to have and make coffee. Maybe
the children would like me to be starving, too, for company.
But I think the focus is on getting fed.
Their focus, tragically hard to say because they could not see, is on getting fed.
C L Couch
Taking Hunger Out of the Poverty Equation