The I Have A Name Project

A poem from a friend of our page.


Homeless. Three kids. God Bless.

Man, you are a star particle light seed
of life and beauty, but these heart faces
with blind eyes pass you on the side street,
give you no second glance.

You label yourself down on your luck,
layered and its high time for the promise
of forgiveness but they are cursing loudly
instead at the traffic light hold up. Here’s my
tiny white blanket now to cover your steady
styled loss, and so on with the driven
snow and wind howl today.

You bless me and I bless you more.
This is how we conform to just dust, our basic level
make-up. I’m awake now and I hear how
your blood rushes to flush your skin, especially
for the painful welts and where your swollen hands
give you away. And your downcast humble
humanity expects nothing more than recognition
of your poor circumstance.

I see you. I ask your name and where you are from,
it feels so inadequate in comparison to a meal
or a place for you to go. I slip you a twenty
and see your stiff garments that have had no
washing and no safe place to dry out.

James, I’ll tell the story of our brief
meeting. How your brown eyes
caught me close with near tears. I glance at you,
now in the rear view mirror, glimmering
with a sadness, but another driver stops to pass you a
heavy weighted shopping bag. One at a time
we do our best to see you through. We pray
it’s enough.

April 10, 2016
Jen May, Poet
Copyright 2016