We Circle

Cathy Barber

Featured image: Cakewalk © A. Anupama 2017

We Circle

one another
like foes—knives drawn,
hackles up,

certain the other
is an idiot, a crazed
wombat without

a lick of sense.
This is politics
in America—

north versus south
red against blue
stitched together

by frail string
and frailer hope.
Sometimes it makes

a body tired.
Humming a dirge,
I make soup.

A pot of water
to boil, a large
stone, maybe

some potatoes,
a carrot, celery,
oh, hell, hominy.

But save a handful
of corn for the doves
that may light
on the sill.