To Belong Any Old Place
The leaves fall from your tree
onto my pool and patio.
I sweep them into the neighborhood street
so they are no longer yours or mine.
Each breath of breeze sends
them along a nowhere route.
The street sweeper comes
and they are gone.
Leaves do not belong
to anyone or anywhere.
Each year they start anew with
beauty and promise.
We all celebrate their being.
Then a trigger is pulled
and they drop to become
the annual bothersome crop of waste.
Somewhere in the dark world
someone’s children
fall from home.
They land in my backyard and yours.
We sweep them into camps
so they no longer are
bothersome to you or me.
Each change of politics sends them
someplace else.
Each year a new crop of children
starts with beauty and promise.
Another inevitable political change
and a new crop of refugee children
drop in my back yard
and yours.
These too are swept into camps
so they are no longer bothersome.
And it comes to pass that these children
belong to no one or anywhere.
They are the annual crop
of leaf children of the world.
Doug Minnis
June 20, 2010