Which rebuke do I prefer?

The rebuke of the empty plate,

Which comes to me demanding that

It carry away my gift when it moves on?

Or the rebuke of the brimming plate,

Which comes to me and smugly says,

“Will you be one with us or not?”

 

No, the hardest rebuke is the one I hear

In the sounding telephone.

“I need some help,” I hear,

And cringe.

“How much this time?” I wonder, and

“How much next time?” because

It never really ends.

 

 I cannot claim a particularly fortunate life

Yet among those whose paths run far more torturous than mine:

My caller.

 

“Yes,” I say,

Because there must be friendship, trust,

And the willingness to give

Or there can be no #offering.