Sunday morning, looking out the front window
The condensation blurry and wet
But my vision was all too clear enough to see
A scene that I couldn’t help to forget
An elderly woman with mismatched clothes
Toiling across the empty street
Large garbage bags hanging low and heavy
From the shopping cart that dragged with her feet
She came up to the gate like a casual guest
And walked blindly into the yard
Surprised to see a stranger in this presence
I paced and my heart grew hard
The sound of glass clinked under the porch
Sounds that shook through my nerves
My desperation made me fumble right
To give what she truly deserves
Back to the window, still there, walking back
Towing her new treasures towards the cart
I swallowed hard and creeped down the stairs
Towards the gate to do my part
Leaning forward, I gave a long caring look
As the woman stood stuffing the bags to breakage complete
I said,“Why do you do this?,” she smiled
Replying with reasons of sickness and grief
I handed her my five, the best I could do
A patch to help her shattered grief to mend
And all she could do through her accented lips
Is bless me over and over again…
She turned her cart as it ricketed downward
I watched her step along the icy way
Going back to the house, I contemplated
That I was just living another day
-Copyright ©2000 K. Monge'