Small Kindness

Das Gedicht habe ich aus dem Buch Every Night is Full of Stars.

Es war sehr auf­fäl­lig, wie freund­lich und nett die Men­schen in Irland waren. Ein­fach so, weil es zum guten Ton gehört.

Small Kindness

I’ve been thin­king about the way, when you walk
down a crow­ded ais­le, peo­p­le pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how stran­gers still say “bless you”
when someone snee­zes, a lef­to­ver
from the Bubo­nic pla­gue. “Don’t die,” we are say­ing.
And some­ti­mes, when you spill lemons
from your gro­cery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Most­ly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be han­ded our cup of cof­fee hot,
and to say thank you to the per­son han­ding it. To smi­le
at them and for them to smi­le back. For the wai­tress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chow­der,
and for the dri­ver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so litt­le of each other, now. So far
from tri­be and fire. Only the­se brief moments of exch­an­ge.
What if they are the true dwel­ling of the holy, the­se
flee­ting temp­les we make tog­e­ther when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”