Compassionfruit

A citrus fruit blossom at the Denver Botanic Gardens orangery. Dec. 2, 2022.

There's a family on the corner at the traffic light. 

They're asking for money, or anything else that could help. 

I wonder if they've talked with one of the nearby nonprofits.

Has anyone offered something useful? 

One of the women holds a bouquet of roses. 

I doubt that flowers pay the rent, but maybe they're not worth nothing, either. 

What if kindness was a legally valid currency? 

A friend asks me for help writing a eulogy. 

She says, "words are escaping me right now." 

I'm not sure words ever want to be caught in the context of Death. 

Sometimes something is bigger than what linguistics can encompass. 

It's easier understood through the body, with other bodies. 

There is wisdom in wordlessness when language falls short. 

Our bodies remember what we've chosen to ignore or forget. 

I offer some chips to a guy with a sign that said "hungry". 

He politely declines, saying he's picky. 

He feels bad taking food he won't eat. I respect that. 

He told me he grew up on a farm. 

There, "organic" meant you planted a seed yourself, and harvested what came from it. 

I hope this earth finds a way to nurture him again. 

At dinner we talk about neo-nazis and extremists. 

I wonder how someone can fall into such a rabbit hole. 

We all know, of course. Understanding doesn't excuse any harm done. 

Yet I wonder, is the past ever beyond repair? Are we? 

I'd like to think there's always a chance to heal. 

What happens when we let our lives be messy? 

What happens when we let ourselves break, and still be whole? 

The food pantry reminds me to never judge on appearances. 

I stock the cooler with milk, lettuce, sandwiches.

If i wouldn't eat it, I set it aside for the farmer with the pigs.

A baby relaxes, swaddled on mom's back, as she peruses potatoes. 

Shoppers scan items past their sell by date, officially worthless but functionally fine. 

One guy asks if he could take just six eggs, instead of the whole dozen. 

I won't eat them all, he tells me. I respect that.

I cut the carton in half, and find homes for the ones left behind.