Yearning
Why is it I feel a small
but ceaseless kinship
with every shopping bag lady,
each homeless being,
huddled in cardboard boxes,
or sprawled in doorways?
Stirred by contrast
with life as I know it, aware
of losses I have never known,
something of given respect
become-my-own,
earned or unearned,
I yearn to share.
And I wish
I could understand better,
could set things right,
provide them warmth
against the icy breeze,
divide my food, look deep
into their eyes,
compassionately,
saying, I care,
I care! --
produce some ease:
resolve the ache of
Am I more than these?
--Bonnie May Malody