by Jean Varda
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Candido Portinari: Dead Child (Criança morta), 1944, oil on canvas. |
This is for the lost ones
hiding and shuddering in
broken down cars and tents
without heat, sleeping
under tarps next to
shopping carts in the rain,
walking all night down
city streets to stay warm
then searching through
dumpsters for breakfast.
This is for the refugees in
back rooms erasing them
selves, quitting their jobs
so they don’t get caught.
This is for the hungry
the cold the sick, the
victims of war, for the
broken families at the
borders begging to get
in, to cross over.
hiding and shuddering in
broken down cars and tents
without heat, sleeping
under tarps next to
shopping carts in the rain,
walking all night down
city streets to stay warm
then searching through
dumpsters for breakfast.
This is for the refugees in
back rooms erasing them
selves, quitting their jobs
so they don’t get caught.
This is for the hungry
the cold the sick, the
victims of war, for the
broken families at the
borders begging to get
in, to cross over.
Jean Varda is a poet and artist residing in Chico California. Where she lives in government housing next to the city bike path. She started out as a street poet in Cambridge, Massachusetts in the days before computers and cell phones.
