Brian MacDonald
Inspiration piece

Alisa Laska
Response

Hope is hard to find.

It seems out of place here

like an old, abandoned chair in a field of weeds.

The tall grass ready to overtake it at any moment.

Hope is hard to find

in the midst of the noise

of horns honking,

kids swearing,

Mamma’s counting change from the cookie jar just to get by.

Drug dealers on playgrounds

Graffiti on buses

You got to speak up or you’ll get trampled on by the city.

Hope is hard to find in the chaos.

Hope is hard to find

in a minivan in the suburbs.

Kids screaming in the back,

head throbbing,

stress eating away at you.

Controlled by the schedule

haunting with each

beep of the cell phone

at the bottom of the coffee cup.

Pressure to do more, be more, find success.

Be a little better than the neighbor down the street.

To have the picket-fenced house and the two-car garage.

Husband with a good job and a fridge full of organic food.

Hope is hard to find in the stress.

Hope is hard to find

in a world in which we search for the enemy,

only to find that he’s in our backyard.

Economies tumbling

Riots breaking out

Tornadoes and floods all around.

Hope is hard to find in a world of terror.

Hope is an old, white chair

in a field of green grass.

Found after a long, uphill climb.

Sinking down into it,

hope supports me as I lie back and take in the world

reminding me there is something to believe in.

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