Filthy Lens for a Clear View

By Carolyn Whittico

Fall 2014 Edition


“I too saw God through mud”

As shoes came trudging by

In hallways, hostels, homes

On sidewalks cracked of stone


His eyes peered deep from filth

Where nothing thinks to look

So those who lag behind

Sit low enough to find


As war continues on

Between the poor and rich

A silent army grows

All bound by common woes:


The stench of bills unpaid

Or thirsty throats and minds

Demands from needles, pills

Calm sick, blur threat, cure ill.


I too have cleaned my dirt

Without the suds of soap

Without Wealth’s thick disguise

Of shiny rings and lies


I used my hands and knees

And opened up my eyes

(God is Earth, and you can’t see him from your high-rise.)