The Homeless Man is My Brother

Hope

“Sir, would you like a sandwich?”
He looks at me, a face
white, scraggly beard, etched
with lines and scars, the pain
of years long fought
and tears long run, but
oh, the eyes!
Sunk in the hollows, they glimmer
with one small
speck of light, the fire
that still burns within.

Nota bene: While studying in seminary several years ago, I was a part of social outreach group called the Back Bay Mobile Soup Kitchen.  We would walk the streets of Boston and offer clothing, food, and hand warmers to the poor and homeless.  What they often valued the most was our companionship and time.  This poem was inspired after one particulrly poignant encounter with a gentleman and his wife at the Copley Square T station.  Say a prayer for this man when you have a moment.