A Mother’s Street Home
            

Bus stops for some,
rest stops for the weary,
hitching posts for grocery carts,
always at the ready,
this urban luxury for many.

Benches support the waiting,
while sun and wind present airborne reflections,
kaleidoscopic yesterdays broken,
yet always connected.

Sidewalks afford but concrete respite,

while children huddle against their mobile home,

as golden candy wrappers dance dervish imaginings
alongside shards of clear plastic,
stained-glass windows on castles of air.

How lonely it must feel,
these broken human fragments once whole,
wandering aimlessly from street to street,
begging humbling but to be.

But like innocence before the reaper,
the scythe of Time remains sharp,
forever moving,
even as roots bereft of youth,
endlessly seek refuge and deliverance.

Many forget…

Homelessness takes many forms,
forever about us,
patience-in-waiting,
arresting complacency for eyes that see,

while others look on with denying vision.