with four Santa-sized bags around him,
khaki bits winking out of mostly dirt brown
lumps, his eyes crinkled even in shade
as though the sun shines perpetually in them,
I offer eight granola bars and a bag of garlic
naan, oval hunks of thick bread, which
seems a bit impractical for a man on
the street, but who knows what he
likes to eat? All I know is that there’s
something in those eyes whose color I
cannot determine, in the salt-and-pepper beard
reminiscent of a graying beard I once loved,
in the way his hand reaches for what I have
to share today, in his bless you, which
makes me want to linger for a while.
But I have places to go this day, every day,
tucked in with a tiny bit of fear and reluctance,
so I smile, offer my silent blessing in return
and walk away.
Love this. You really brought it home with that last stanza. Thanks Jan!
Thanks, Jan! I’ve been needing to write this for years… and have tried. Glad this one finally worked. It so needed to be written and shared.