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Reflections and Poem by Phyllis Cohen,
Psy.D., Ph.D., CGP
I spent last Friday (a week
ago) at a hurricane relief center in New York City and it was a
humbling experience. The people working there and the volunteers were
wonderful and the magnitude of the coordinating agencies was impressive.
Strangely, the displaced people coming that afternoon and evening were very
sparse so that there was almost all too much time for reflection, although the
most meaningful for me was the interlude working with one of the staff who had
simply become overwhelmed with the stories and felt as if she was falling
apart.
One of the effects of being
there, seeing the families coming in clutching only a small bag of
possessions, hearing the story of the Tibetan mother and son who finally found
each other; calming the woman from Senegal (in my very poor French) who was
afraid of being deported, was to send me back to an early place in my own
life. As a pre-teen I wrote poetry...not good verse, but an outlet. And so,
I'm sending the result on to you with both a sense of embarrassment and a wish
to share. I am very proud and very grateful for the role that AGPA has taken.
How futile the waiting.
How foreign the field.
How useless the pacing.
How empty the yield.
No patients appearing.
No lost ones are found.
Today’s clinic a symbol
Of untreated ground.
Oh where are the heroes?
Awaiting their chance.
Their task to be ready
For words or for glance.
The victims are frightened.
Displaced, empty hands.
Confined by disaster.
Confused by commands.
Helpful? Not really
But ready despite
The wide empty cubbies,
The long empty night.
The waiting, the wishing,
The willing to be there.
Knowing fears of so needing
.Made vulnerable fare.
And wanting to be there
And wanting to matter.
To offer those people
Ourselves on a platter.
Then they come and they see us
With tears seeking new life.
For food and for shelter.
For safety from strife.
In our words, for ego,
Identity to be found.
To once more feel human
To find solid ground.
How fertile the waiting;
Familiar the part.
The sitting, creating
From fullness of heart.
Now grateful for presence
Lamb back in the fold.
The forms can be filled out.
True tales can be told.
We’ve offered our ‘allness’
With care, not with pity.
Ashamed of our government,
Proud of our city!
Coda
We do well what we do as we offer our wares;
Holding in our deep feelings and tending to
theirs.
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