Poems from a public place
I saw you in the marketplace,
that wrinkly old woman
clutching a babe as the newborn
seized an orange slice in its
tiny right hand.
Why is it that when we are together, love,
I can embrace the beauty in the aches in my legs.
How come mountains, again, are scalable and
these old spindly wheels feel like wings. . .
Smelly, begging on the
corner for change until
they bring him: 2 cans of soup,
1 flannel and 4 pairs socks. Oh,
and a tract.
But I know the Spirit lives within him.