Blood

Blood

Shed by whites killing native Americans
where my home now stands beneath an oak.

Raised by the whip on the backs
of people who built our lawmakers’ walls.

Pooled deeper than oil wells
but only if you count civilians.
***
The lines that join
parents to children.

The platelets you choose to give
a seventy-year-old stranger.

The common thread that rushes with a heartbeat
to let all of us, every cell in the body, live.

Ellen Pickus
Baldwin, NY
American Jewish World Services