Blessed are they who are now poor,
because they are on the down-cycle.
Blessed are the meek and gentle,
because they always get pushed around
but they don’t care.
Blessed are the broken people.
When they are mended,
they will be stronger than ever.
Blessed are the activists
who are always crying out for
justice, justice, justice!
Blessed are the sinners,
because Jesus likes them best.
Blessed are the suicide bombers.
When they go to the bosom of Allah,
Allah will correct them.
Happy all the losers,
who have nothing left to lose.
Happy all you winners,
who have won all that you want, and
are wondering what is still missing.
Maybe now you’ll find it.
Blessed are the hungry and thirsty,
the too hot and the freezing,
the fearful, the fault-finding,
the diseased and the dying.
You ring my doorbell, saying,
“Someone must be home.”
At the moment
I am being home to Sara,
who steps out of preschool.
She cradles a pencil holder
just now finished by Daddy.
Let’s bring home to his office,
just so we’re back by 3 o’clock
when Paul and Ann come home
with their school stories.
Someone must be home
to open doors,
to be the kitchen smelling welcome.
Someone has to be what isn’t