standing dignified in your threadbare coat
at the wintry intersection of City Hall
Ave. and the exit of the mall
parking lot, holding up
a cardboard sign that reads Thank you
for any help for the homeless, a rucksack
at your feet filled with what might be
your only worldly possessions—
And I love you as you peer at the man
behind the wheel, inching slowly forward
toward the barrier. You, random stranger,
recognized the violinist who played
months ago near midnight in a cafe,
ice and dirty snow piled outside
where you were on the sidewalk,
people crowding indoors for beer
and wine and warmth, no one really
listening— But for you, the music
issued from the wood, strings
pulled you out of yourself
into a time and place
before this one—
And I don’t know
the story of your particular
impoverishment, nor the list
of who or what you may have lost
and how; but it is my purse
and every last unlined pocket
of my heart that fills when you
pull out the few creased
dollar bills you’ve collected,
and thrust them into the hands
of someone who made for you,
for us, one night sometime ago,
a little space wounded with beauty.
* ~ with thanks to my youngest daughter G. for the line that reeled off the rest of this poem
In response to Via Negativa: Funny tastes.