Night after
frigid night he huddled there,
bedded by
the blank brick wall
blinded by heaps
of dirty quilts and blankets
that covered
him top to bottom,
he was
unseen, unseeing,
wrapped in darkness.
Only the
plastic bags
by locked
wheelchair tires
held
mementos of his past.
Only the
rise and fall of his chest
showed signs
of life.
We hastened by to get our cars,
to go to our warm homes
as we rushed
from work, glancing at him.
We were on
the move, yet
moved by his
very rootedness, his silent need,
that we saw
dimly there.
We wondered how to help.
Perhaps a
gift card for coffee to give him warmth?
We’d feel
better doing something-anything-
Sometimes he
disappeared for a few nights
but always
returned,
hulking icon
of the city’s poor.
One dusk
when sleet prickled its descent,
slicking the
walkways
as we
slipped toward the garage,
we heard a
voice calling:
“Be careful
on your way home!
Don’t get
hurt!
The roads
are slippery you know!”
There he sat
by the blank wall,
head unmasked,
soiled
quilts and blankets draped
like vestments
around his torso.
His face
shone.
“Be careful
driving home,” he cautioned.
“don’t get
hurt.”
Moved as he
was seeing our plight,
his words
wove warmth
into the
recesses of our hearts;
sleet
shifted to snow.
We stepped
over the softened street
toward his outstretched arm.
toward his outstretched arm.
A very moving poem, John. Thank you. I've worked for about nine years with homeless women and men in viejo San Juan, PR. I miss those days. I miss their love, the feeling that Jesus was walking among us...
ReplyDeleteThanks, Claire. It is by a friend of mine in Maine. It is quite a grace to walk with people who are in different situations than we are. Thanks for doing that. I'm sure many of them remember you fondly..
DeleteSome of them definitely do. When we come across one of them in viejo San Juan it's always like meeting an old friend :-)
DeleteNo Doubt. They know of your innate goodness.
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