There Is Enough for Breakfast

There Is Enough for Breakfast

(“These six cities will be safe places for the people of Israel and for the stranger and for the one who visits them.” Numbers 34:15a)

Come inside, you don’t need to run anymore.
Wipe the dust from your feet,
sit in the rocking chair on the porch,
have some wine. Let your eyes shine again
with hope
that has nothing left to hide.

I know you don’t understand,
It flies well over my head too.
But this house,
these occupants,
this rectangular piece of lawn
and mud and
douglas firs and
hummingbirds;
they do not strictly belong to me.

Did you steal? I don’t wanna know.
Did you lose your identity when
the sheriff plastered your face on
posters and envelopes sent in the mail?
It may be too early to tell,
and there may be more losses ahead;
but here and now there is safety.
Here and now there is music, (you
pick the playlist). Herer and now
there are no magistrates or ministers
dropping the gavel like a boulder on your head.

You can tell the whole story; you can sit in silence.
I am not a warden. I have a rap sheet too.
But here there is no violence, no words understood
too clearly to miss their mark. (Yes, it surprises me as well
when the waggled fingers exclaim they never meant to say
anything unkind-only-truthful.)

There is fruit here to be picked: apples are a bit late,
our pears are sparse, and the blackberries believe the
yard belongs to them. But there is enough for breakfast;
oatmeal or cream of wheat? And, since we knew you were
coming
there are a dozen donuts on the kitchen counter.

Let us be your refuge, let us be your sanctuary,
let us take the wrap for the naysaying nation
that can’t wait to send you to face the charges
you never denied. Let us be the child’s fort
that only allows friends inside.

Come now, to the table. Chili is on,
the wine is poured, and we may laugh at how
migrants like us ever found a place
so safe
to stay.