Closed Quarters *for DACA* by Debra Webb Roberts

Space shared multiplies,
slices of atmosphere warm
to congenial

where offerings of generous
are portioned, not rationed –
this becomes our giving room

We like tidy edges,
picket fence perfection
until maps reveal untraceable tracks,
crossed boundaries prove Others
left behind to hanging out on the fringe

We’ve elbow room for plenty,
wide brimmed-hats and big boots
boast enormity

Even the stoutest of walls must breathe,
expansion is a door blown wide open –
do we come unhinged at prospect?

Warm welcomes friend and stranger,
empty platitudes tossed aside,
dishing out, instead, the simplest gifts of grace

Here it seems irrational to segregate,
heart’s divided and sometimes stingy cry
for solitude goes unheard, defied
in the expansive act of ushering in

Old modes relearned,
elders taught necessity of compassion :
strangers and angels come, visit;
invitational is to revisit soul’s yearning
for connection

A land, a house, a home of plenty –
proverbial jar of oil never runs dry

Spaces portioned, freely served,
the welcome mat whose face
is worn away for traffic

Love does not divide, nor reduce

Where walls come down
hearts increase in size
souls expand with joy

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