Hope

Hope

©2011 by Alice Walker

Hope never
to covet
the neighbors’ house
with the fragrant
garden
from which a family
has been
driven by your soldiers;
mother, father,
grandparents,
the toddler and
the dog
 now homeless:
 huddled, holding on
to each other,
stunned
and friendless
beneath you
in the street:
sitting on
cobblestones
as if on the sofas
inside
 that you have decided
to  clean, recover and
 keep.
Hope never
to say yes
to their misery.
Hope never to gaze
 down into their faces
from what used to be
their rooftop.
Hope never to believe
 this robbery
will make you a better
citizen of your new
country
as you unfurl and wave
it’s recent
flag
that  has been given
to assure you
of this impossibility.