A friendly face,
a warm place:
reminders of tears I've shed
At kindnesses shown me.
The bumblebee
swerves to miss flailing
arms, fat little arms
of the children we once were.
Loneliness had yet to meet us.
This winter the government
sent no checks. The line
outside St. Anthony's is alive
with hubbub and rapport.
Slop, salad and a bit of bread,
the prayer of St. Francis above the door.
Do not scorn me. You are bored
with the silence in my head.
Sit a while and let it sink in.
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