illusion

cruel, bone-chilling -35 degree winds
warm and safe in here
hot tea in my hands
soft support under my body
surrounded by pretty
the sound of the furnace
the pantry full

in the news: Edmonton’s Hope Mission
our city’s several thousand men and women without a place to call home
a handful of agencies providing plastic vinyl-covered mattresses
for a night
a bowl of soup
shelter, for a little while, from the killing cold

a universe unknown, impossibly far away,
or so it seems
in truth, a single hard fall away

I have a disagreement with you who refuse to acknowledge this:
mental illness
addiction
disability
bank accounts flushed away
any number of falls from good fortune—I am not immune
you are not immune

it is hubris, and infinitely dangerous
to our spirits
to claim we built our little worlds on our own,
that they are indestructible