‘I Am Not a Counselor’
A poem.
I know it. He knows it.
I am here only to serve
one teriyaki chicken on steamed rice
extra broccoli extra carrots,
your meal is ready sir,
you’re welcome.
I may be the only human he speaks with
face to face this week, this month.
I know it. He knows it.
Only my eyes are visible
behind glasses,
peeping above my
blue face mask.
A counter between us. Hand sanitizer.
We are clearly
carefully divided. He is
alone, scared, anxious
and losing his mind at home.
I am not a counselor,
but I am human.
A Ugandan Uncle told me we are all
counselors, for better and for worse.
So I scrunch my eyes into a smile and say, stay safe,
take care, you’ll be alright, God bless you
words thin as ice which lies like clear glass
holding each trapped bubble
showing you everything in its depths
I know he knows what’s underneath –
I see you. I hear you.
Take courage.
