Poem by Heather Banks

HUNGERS 
So many kinds--
for touch, relationships, acceptance,
fame, success, or just belonging.
Many stem at first
from thirst
for knowledge,
but none can be
achieved or even begun
when the real hunger
is an empty stomach
at school, at home--
singly or famine by the thousands.
No grain of truth
nourishes bloated stomachs of the starving.
Hunger pangs are not just a saying
to those whose stomachs rumble night and day.
So hard to address
necessary sustenance
despite the plenty—even waste–
in the world’s overall food chain.
One job lost, and home becomes the car or street.
Or perhaps one’s village was bombed or burned
because of differences in cultures or beliefs.
Whatever the cause, the despairing need is the same--
hunger ensues. With no fixed address for help,
each is lost in the cracks
if society lacks safety nets or networks.

Heather Banks, born in Nebraska, has lived in the Boston area, Ohio, Taiwan, Maryland/DC for 40 years, and now in the Shenandoah Valley.  Like many retirees, she is so busy with civic groups, writing, art, gardening, and swimming, she wonders how she had time to raise a son and teach or work as an editor.

---