The Wrestles of Heart and Conscience

I want the world to be fair,
and yet,
I want my child
to win.

I want every child
to be fed,
but I tuck mine in
twice,
with warm milk
and whispered prayers.

I speak of peace
at dinner tables,
but in my chest
the war drums beat
for my child’s place
in line.

Yes,
love can blind us.
But what kind of world
asks us
to unlove
in the name of balance?

What kind of father
am I
if I do not reach
for every fruit
on every tree,
if not to feed all,
then at least
to feed the one
whose eyes I know?

And what kind of man
am I
if I hoard apples
from the children
whose names
I’ve never learned?

We are torn,
by love,
by justice,
by the mirror that cracks
between ours
and everyone’s.

But perhaps,
to be fully human
is not to resolve the split,

but to walk it,
every day,
barefoot
in both directions.