A poem to honor a man that used to come in Bezazian Library in late 90s.

 

While leaning against a urine-stained & crumbling wall,
Hard up against the El tracks,
His heart stopped.
Softly he sank down to the pavement
Clasping to his chest
A plastic bag that held
All his worldly goods.
His death was witnessed
By the velvet darkness
As his stubbled chin was brought to rest
On the broken glass
Of someone else’s prayer.
Tell me how not one of us
Witnessed his passing
How did we miss that soul
Slipping away from its broken temple?
We wept no tears of joy
At his release,
We did not sorrow
At his absence from us.
How could it be
That not one of us witnessed his passing
Yet all of Heaven
Came out to greet him?
Karen Harvey-Turner

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