Walls
of a house
where
I am visiting
crumble
tumble
fall.
Hopes in the mind where I thrive
give way to a crushing vigil
of
waiting
to find out
if I
will
survive.
But I’m not the only one trapped
by destruction.
A small child!
Instinctively,
I lift
my friend’s daughter
and carry her
to safety
an act
that will forever
cause others to call me a hero
even though all I am is a weak man
who happens to be just a tiny bit bolder
than this thankfully smiling
five-year-old
girl.
My heart is changed
by the experience of helping.
None of the books I’ve read by Spanish, Cuban,
French, Greek, and North American poets
ever prepared me for the depth
of my new gratitude
to heaven
and earth.