Fearful Times Require Fierce Dancing

Like the old man, Fedil Fejzic, who goes out under the cover of night
to avoid the snipers, to milk his cow,
and each day for 440 days, delivers its milk before dawn
to a young widow with a baby, not even a compatriot.

Or like Noi, tall as a garden fence, and Thorn, her partner,
slightly taller, same smiling disposition,
who each day deliver tins of food to the hovels of Bangkok,
call themselves, “slum sitters,”
call it their calling.

Or like Nelly Stharre who sang her heart,
was burned down in Dominica,
her only threat, singing Jah’s song of Peace and Love.

Or like Mildred Ryder who put on a pair of canvas sneakers,
donned a blue tunic on which she had sown her new name,
Peace Pilgrim,
walked across America five times — 25,000 miles in three decades —
through all the wars, until her death in 81.

Or like the soldier, Logan Laituri,
so struck by the Sermon on the Mount,
was rendered helpless
to pick up a rifle, so offered his body.

Or like Arno Michaels, former white supremacist,
who wrote, Life After Hate,
where he says, his change of heart was nothing so dramatic,
just common association with ordinary people.

People, like the lady in a calf-length woolen jacket,
orange toque pulled over hijab,
who cleans the Save-On parking lot early in the morning,
who I love to say hello to
because she smiles so easily,
and so well.

Like all of us, ordinary people, fearful, angry, 
and just as often, courageous, magnanimous,

who now see: the point at which we feel helpless
about the current crisis, is also the point of truth:
the fierce dance, to pray for justice, for peace,
to act faithfully towards others.

Like the old man who later fell on hard times,
his cow, slaughtered for meat before the end of the siege,
and when approached by a reporter who knew the widow,
his eyes brightened,
his first question, “And the baby, how is she?”

18 Comments

  1. …like Paul and Diane, the couple two doors down, who have never institutionalized their autistic daughter, but have navigated every day, including her in everything they do with love and acceptance, for the 30 years we have been neighbours, Diane now figuring out how to do this on her own, as Paul passed away this past week.

    Thanks for the poem, Stephen. You’ve inspired me to look for these common, ordinary people, dancing fiercely.

  2. These words are like a mirror I am looking in, Stephen, and wondering at who I see. What have I given? So many are heroic but I fear I am not among them. Lots to ponder and to weigh and again the question rises, “What is mine to do?” Thank you.

  3. Not once have I regretted breaking from my day and reading your words, Stephen. It is these little things that save us – I believe it more and more each day. Thank you for taking the time to watch and report.

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