in a world without violence (we are the garden)

This work is part of a series I've named Poems for Peace. A piece meant as a balm for your weary soul - and mine. Sending gentle hugs your way, darling human.

In a world without violence, we wake up just before sunrise. The morning paper is already seated on my front stoop with a red bow wrapped about it. The headlines say 16 inches of snow in Denver. Neighbors helping neighbors in a black and white photograph adorn the front page. The only ice we know about holds fast in long thick slick sticks at the edges of rooftops. A capital H helper is available on every street their removal and safety measures like collecting mail from the end of our elders driveways when it's below freezing. Last year, congregations across the country stopped using the word sinner to define their people. Instead, on the first Tuesday of the month each community gathers to remind one another of their value and worth. Did you know that every child is fed? Breast milk swaps. Organic formula is free. Breakfast and lunch is fully paid. Local farmers provide our produce and temples and mosques hold the longest table every night. We have no need for an application to determine the validity of our needs. We take care of our own. Someone told me we once used weapons and words like swords upon one another. But melting stations. But church. The gardens are plentiful come harvest, made rich by the compost of our past. They feed everyone. Everyone I know is blooming.