They are common people,
Not classed by wealth,
But by a lack
Of deep appreciation.
You and I, though, are rich.
We praise the simple.
Exquisite souls, it follows,
Adore us in return.
Scary or other unsavory shadows
Darken established sun fountains.
Sorrow's frightened face wings away.
Of cognizant family members
Regard the disembodied.
Being is willed without avail
To manifestations of nose wipes
Until the watery spirit is fastened down.
Improvised steps, plus wild gestures,
Move mother-heart demands toward
Self-defense, plus skills to brook atrocity.
From now, "here" is also leave-taking of
So many moments swum without anchor, between
Life's rickety, second-hand tables and heaven.
Watchers, merely, we remain leagues away,
Observing through glass, witnessing
Others failing to scream a soul back into existence.
KJ Hannah Greenberg gave up all manner of academic hoopla to chase a hibernaculum of imaginary hedgehogs and to raise children. En route, she moved to Jerusalem, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and took on some editorial responsibilities at journals hither and yon. Hannah's work can be found in lots of places, including Cantaraville, Language and Culture Magazine, Poetica, Poetry Superhighway, The New Vilna Review, and Vox Poetica.