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The poem of the month this time around is about a recent tragedy that claimed the lives of 176 people. I can’t put my faith in world powers any longer... it belongs to people. I’m currently in Mumbai and have had an inspiring time on this journey... not because of sights I've seen, but because of people I’ve met... people who’ve shared their stories so we could find what we have in common. Tour dates will keep rolling in... but for now I’m looking forward to being back in Eugene Oregon on January 31st... looking forward to making strangers less strange. Wishing you all a better year than the last but nowhere near as good as the years that are yet to come.

176

Each one had parents biological or not someone who raised them who loved them

perhaps each one had brothers or sisters perhaps aunts or uncles perhaps cousins perhaps a husband or a wife or a child or children

definitely friends definitely someone who will miss them

perhaps a lover perhaps students

definitely grandparents whether they knew them or not

definitely one branch of the family tree that coughed through the gun smoke of wars they hoped would be our last

definitely family who lived through the thunder of artillery distant or near while praying the storm would pass forever

what colour is the poppy for the ones who weren’t soldiers?

for the ones who fall in wars that were not theirs to fight?

what day do we set aside to remember the innocent?

176

but each one not the ones who rose to power to pick fights they would never fight themselves

leaders who put the casual in casualties

who believe peace is a prize that can be bought with war using grief as a down payment and damage as collateral

who set crossfires on our front lawns then wonder why we fear them

war hawks tweeting roars from the safety of a nest they’ve never had to leave

never had to stand shoulder to shoulder in a trench trusting a stranger to have their back because imminent threat made faith a necessity

folded flags will not check for monsters under the bed will not read bedtime stories to children

money will not walk daughters down the aisle will not teach sons to be better men

oil is not a cure for thirst blood is not a meal

the lines in the sand are drawn by governments who need us to keep believing those lines are real

but people are not their presidents people are not their prime ministers or supreme leaders

people are not their governments not their empires or regimes

people are neighbours are teachers are doctors

taxi cab drivers and pilots scientists and janitors waiters, air traffic controllers, and yes soldiers

people are the people we trust to deliver our mail regardless of our religious or political differences

trust to cook our meals when we eat out trust to watch the road when we cross the street

we are not the strangers our leaders insist we are how can we be?

we trust one another everyday

we are people

people are not hoarding wealth in off shore accounts people are just trying to scrape by

people are paying their taxes while corporations don’t

people are tired of dying at the whims of ego

people are tired

but people are always tired

when they first wake up.