I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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It was worth getting out of bed in the cold dark
for an early doctor’s appointment
to find this bright donut shop where I sit
with my medium coffee, cream and sugar,
light pouring in through spotless windows.
It was worth it to see the men’s wide smiles
for the dark-eyed girl behind the counter
before they carried their coffee
to anonymous cubicles and construction sites.
It was worth it to overhear the two gray men
counting themselves lucky to have gotten out
just before the mill closed
and to watch them settle in at their table,
steam from their cups rising before them
as they bit into their donuts
filled with jelly and cream.