Generosity

Generosity is in your name,
your nature.
Before you were born,
People knew, telling your father your name.
Today, your patience belies the essence,
Answering the same question again and again.
Will you be generous with your heart?
Would you share it with me?
Like a game at a picnic,
Little nibbles of intimacy,
Small entreés into you, your soul.
Can you be generous with this?

Generosity means so many things.
It is a way of treating people, and oneself.
Playing frisbee in the park,
Making a pie on your table,
We were at home,
Sharing a moment in time.

When I asked you to talk about the Conflict,
You were generous with me.
I can't imagine the pain of being segregated and discriminated
In my own home, in my country.
Disbelieved, feared.
We lay in the park until they told us to leave,
And you told the man that I had been telling you a story.
You were generous even with him.
Yet that abyss of experience and pain still separates us.