Family

Walking through a hospital parking lot

Perfect white lines outside an imperfect building.

Mercedes to my left

Rusty van to my right.

All that separation

Dissolves on the threshold

When you peruse the catalogue

Of dying people inside.

Your wife,

His sister,

You both drove here

To weep over loved ones.

If the vehicle doesn’t matter

If your class doesn’t matter

If grief is level ground

Then can we all be family?

– Vagabond Prophet