Yearn (Psalm 72:4)

The prisoner who prays for freedom behind bars
and sits in the corner by the window
to soak up the sliver of sunlight,

the soldier who imagines
his wife’s arms around him
on his cot under the stars,

the child who begs
for a pair of new shoes
to cover her swollen soles,

the single mother who seeks an outstretched hand
to offer the backseat of their car, any seat,
so that she can get to work,

the father who works till the sun comes up
for that extra paycheck to purchase
his son’s medication,

the son who spends the money on his meds
so that the flashbacks will stop
and he does not snap anymore,

the student who sleeps in past their class
because she has crammed six hours each day
and can’t drag herself up on this one,

the musician who stands on the street corner
with a saxophone and jazz
and a bucket out for donations,

and yes, even that girl
who stretches out her hand
from her mind’s metal trap

in hunger to eat the apple, the bread,
yes, even the whole loaf,
none are greedy, no.

The Shepherd who prepares,
even just now, will feed all the flock
in ever-stretching pastures.

By Amy Lauren

Biography:

Amy Lauren is a graduate student in Mississippi. Among other publications, her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Wherewithal Lit, Lavender Review, and Sinister Wisdom.