a philly spring / by Emily Busch

the immediacy of all
who need me
in different ways
and yet sometimes i feel helpless
frozen with trying
to figure out
monetary provisions and
pro-visions
kids are climbing
my back fence
trying to get in the yard
a cat is curled against a rock
by the front of the house
wounded
every block of children
living in poverty in this city
multiplied
by another block
what is it that keeps us able
to not get overwhelmed?
the kids climbing my fence
who live behind me and the bowling alley yard
them with their patio of concrete
sometimes it feels
like too stark a representation
of having and having not
they look down from their bedroom
through the window with the broken plastic blind
like a bird's feathers
violently disturbed
and never set back
they study the yard
the hammock
the dog
the string bean teepee
and want to know everything
the fence leans from the weight of all their bodies
perched and heaving from the curiosity
of little boys
and it's unstoppable forward velocity