My friend is hardworking, but sick and hungry.
When I tell him I have little food left, he says he’ll eat later.
No! I protest. I’ll buy bread and cheese from a shop down the street.
But block after block, nothing is open —
so I dive into the subway, where I’m lost in a maze of tunnels.

Young men and women roam far and wide,
but I’m old, tired, and claustrophobic, on my knees,
scraping my belly down dark, descending passageways.
My head is bursting. My heart attacks me.
There’s no food here, not even much air. I give up.

I turn back, climb a cliff, leap a crevasse, cross a river.
I hope I’ll find the strength to scramble on,
but maybe I’ve come too far, and can’t return?
I wish I hadn’t left my own work behind —
my peace, my joy — the last fearless place I’ve ever known.