Shame

Sometimes I am
ashamed
of my fridge
and chocolate
easily purchased
at the corner
convenience store.
My life in
running water
rivulets and
Internet broadband -

How easily
convenient
these words are typed -

while someone lies
in a hospital bed
surrounded by
flies and
hazmat-suited
angels

Or as a young
girl traces
out the alphabet
in rocket-flared
lamplight -
striving for something
more.

I am no stranger
to suffering,
yet it too seems
privileged
when times of
plenty interlace
like the
puzzle pieces of
my existence.

This casual sense
of privilege
and shame at having
by luck
what so many others
seek -
is privilege as well.

So still I feel
ashamed
and wonder if
what I can do
will ever be enough.

© Eleanor Clark
9 September, 2014