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When the children of Gaza
gather green and goods
for the children of Somalia-
something whispers
why am I asleep?

in the midst of Lordexaltation
sujude inspiration comes.
do something-
go to the jewelry shops,
shoppers squandering
their eternities
at the price of diamonds,
embedded in gaudy gold
they wear in arrogance
to uphold their elegance
in protection of class distinction
between them and their indonesian maid
whose face is luminous beyond worldly panache.

go to the jewelry shops
with pictures of the starving babies.
“Do you want to buy these bracelets
like handcuffs
like barricades on your way over
to Divine Presence.
Or do you want to feed these babies?”

Look for the signs-
does her hand fall over her belly?
does her chin dimple,
her bottom lip quiver a little?
or does she look away?
if her womb doesn’t contract
if her forehead doesn’t furrow,
move on, mona.

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