In the United States, 1 out of 6 children faces hunger, children of all ages and all races. Hunger in America is a difficult issue because it's often invisible. They’re seen more clearly at night, rising in the glow of neon to dig in filthy cans for a meal so they can see the sunrise another day. They’re behind the doors I dare not pierce, doors that open out, a sour noise behind them, the stench of dismissal. Like the moon, they fill the landscape- naked, hungry, moaning, with hands raised in class, with eyes burning new trails, all just beneath my radar, my senses numb from the deluge of self. They are there. They are reaching out to me. They are calling to me in the fog, saying goodbye to all of this, wishing it would stay a while longer. Years after the last has disappeared, the moon and the sun will remain as a sort of testimony, but what of humankind? What will be here as evidence of goodness? Will there be signs that I tried to stem the tide of loss, will fut
(The Weaver's Song)