I Don’t Have a Plate

I keep to my task
Finding metal and glass
While around me flames dance
On a hill made of trash.

My treasures will see,
If enough I can glean,
That my sisters will eat,
And my brothers and me.


We come fighting despair
With enough food to share
For everyone there.
Of him we’re aware

And we ask him his name,
Say, “There’s food here this day.”
But he turns away,
“Sir, I don’t have a plate.”

Patricia Burlison

Last week a local radio station was having a shareathon to raise money for one of the ministries working in Haiti. As this story was told, my mind and my heart were captured by those six words. (The ministry team did show the boy that they had plates there for people to use.)


1 Comment

  1. PoetTraveler said,

    February 7, 2010 at 11:30 pm

    Trisha, your poems are beautiful. Your faith shines out of these.
    Blessings on you.

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