He walked up to me,
this man on the El’,
a stranger,
and said the Lord asked him to bless me.
His suit was gray,
and his tie was…
I don’t recall.
The essence of caramel tinged his skin,
and his eyes,
a feast of lime, maize, blueberry,
intensified as he spoke—
enticed by…
what?
A tired sigh,
empty stare?
I can’t remember being hungry.
I don’t believe in angels.
I do not worship gods.
But on that morning,
the scent of sweet, molten gold
rose from the quaking ground…
…and I tasted faith.
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Beautiful sentiment in this poem, Barbara. Tender and poignant. ~nan
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Thank you, Nan, for your lovely words. The poem was based on an experience that is still fresh for me. This seemed the best way to share it. You made my day.
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