Compassion comes from Latin: “suffer with,
Together.” This is why I’ve often failed
To enter wounded space–believed the myth
That feeling pain would trap me locked and jailed
Inside the cell of hurt in which I see
My neighbor. What if I go in there only
To be dissolved in all that wailing? A key
Must be available to tidily
Unlatch this door, and then the captive stands
And walks outside. But no–the key’s for me
To turn the bolt and join with open hands.
We sit behind these bars and sing a psalm,
And captured here we ring the air with calm.
