My privilege

My privilege is to get up at six in the morning,
My privilege is the sense of belonging
To this house, this harbor, the fog with a sound
of the ferry which to Manhattan is bound.

I consider it an honor to cut bread, to cut butter,
I consider it a blessing a few words I mutter
When I give those gifts to my daughter who rushes
and who takes them to school on her shoulder in sachets.

I consider it a gift when my son's on vacation,
and the glimpse of his face brings me highest elation,
When he leaves for the boat to meet up with a friend,
Then his voice sounds better than the greatest rock band.

It's a joy to walk for a while with my beagle,
With my dog by side I can feel I am regal,
I enjoy every path, every street, every lawn,
By the time when I'm back I am almost reborn.

I consider it a feast when I am drinking hot coffee,
And my pen with some paper I consider my trophy,
My best prize is to find my laptop with a cord,
And creating my books is my final reward.

January 2014, Staten Island

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