In Common

By

We don’t all pray in the same church,

but we all wait in the same checkout lines,

glancing at gum racks and tabloid lies,

half-watching the kid with the runny nose

and the old man counting nickels.


We don’t all vote the same,

but we all curse at traffic lights,

get cut off by the same kind of jerk

in the same kind of hurry.

Then we go home

and try not to lose our temper

at someone we love.


We don’t all eat the same food,

but we all sit in waiting rooms,

staring at worn-out magazines,

pretending not to worry

as our name creeps closer

to the nurse’s clipboard.


We raise flags for different reasons,

but we all stand quiet

when someone folds one

and hands it to a widow.


We teach our kids different songs,

but they all cry

the first time they see something die

and ask if it hurts.


We build our fences,

paint our houses,

make what peace we can

between the news and the night.


And when it’s done—

when the breath leaves

and the hands fall still—

we don’t ask who you voted for.


We carry you

to the same quiet ground,

dig the same hard earth,

say the same awkward words,

and place the same tired flowers.


Different names,

same stone.


Just scratching where it itches!

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