Lexington and 86th
I had never seen him at Lexington and 86th before;
Maybe he was newly homeless,
replacing the sad-eyed-blue woman
I'd grown accustomed to.
It wasn’t his sign that caught my eye –
“Homeless and hungry.
It was is hands, clasping tightly;
the way he rocked back and forth
like a child, wracked with bedtime anxiety,
who prays for angels that never come.
It was the tears pouring down his cheeks.
When I put the bag filled with snacks down in front of him
as if I had –indeed –surprised some fervent
and heart-wrenching prayer.
For a second all my own,
I took in his clothes,
his hands, his tear-stained countenance
(not yet grubby with weeks)
and wondered: had God
chosen me to be an angel?