My neighbor who shovels my sidewalk if he gets up earlier than me. The rhubarb I share with him in the spring. The people who leave sweet notes in my Poetry Hut. The little free food library at the church a few blocks away. These and a thousand more small daily acts of generosity and kindness make life better for everyone.

Remember when, instead of patiently answering his question, a presidential candidate made fun of a disabled reporter in front of a huge crowd and instead of going silent in revulsion, they cheered? Witnessing acts of cruelty twists something up in me —what should I do what should I do what should I do–in an almost paralyzing way. The saying “hurt people hurt people” makes sense but not enough sense, because aren’t we all hurt? The only thing to do about cruelty is resist it.

Boléro, by Keith Leonard

From the kitchen, I catch the neighbor
cross the street to switch off my car’s interior lights.
He returns to his house without announcing the favor.
For the last three years, a friend has woken early
and walked the beach, combing for bottle caps
and frayed fishing line. She mentions this
only casually at lunch, after I’ve asked
what she did that morning.
Care has a quiet soundtrack: the sycamore’s
rustling leaves, your nails tracing my shoulder blades.
A melody that repeats—a bit like Ravel’s Boléro.
When it was first performed, a woman shouted,
Rubbish! from the balcony. She called Ravel
a madman. I think I understand. I wish I didn’t.
I’ve been taught that art must have conflict,
that reason must meet resistance.

Click here for more information about Keith Leonard. Today’s poem first appeared in Poetry in December, 2023. 
alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter