entry for writer's cramp
|a small act of kindness
it's all I have to counter
this daily news of rage, of terror:
a painted stone left on a shelf
pocket change left behind
a coffee paid forward
a sharp, sarcastic retort unsaid.
I think of them as mandalas for peace
underground like cedar roots
their scent perfuming the acrid earth.
Small acts of kindness,
it's all I have.