We were rich.

Billionaires.

With his feet

he drove across the country,

semi loaded for delivery.

With her hands

she sewed dresses

baked bread

roasted caramel popcorn.

We were rich.

With his hands

he built a house –

cinder block and wood paneling,

rooms for all.

With her hands

she warmed our clothes on the wood-burning stove.

I went to school smelling of wood.

And love.

We were rich.

With his hands

he harvested grain

and raised animals…

anything to feed us.

With her brain,

she made little

feel like much.

Indeed, she fed a multitude

with less than five loaves and two fish.

We were rich.

With his courage,

he removed us from all we had known

and moved us to all

we could not know.

With her heart

she cradled our fear

while she must have known her own.

We were rich.

We did not know excess, or that excess even existed.

We didn’t know new clothes; we shared and passed down.

We did not know truffles or caviar or wine,

but we knew full bellies.

We knew love.

And boundaries.

And affection.

We knew we held the universe in their hearts.

We knew they lived for us.

We were rich.