Angelina Nguyen

Privilege by Angelina Nguyen 

what a privilege it is

to plant flowers for beauty, not burial

to tend to life

without it meaning loss.

what a privilege it is

to open windows for breeze, not escape

to let the air touch your face

without fear of what follows it.

what a privilege it is

to know fire as warmth, not destruction

to gather around its glow

and not run from its hunger.

what a privilege it is

to watch the sky burn pink, not cities

to call it sunset, not warning,

beauty, not ash.

what a privilege it is

to know silence as peace, not aftermath

to rest without counting

who didn’t make it home.

what a privilege it is

to call this ordinary,

to not know how sacred

ordinary really is.