Compassion's Guidance

People tend to take circumstances out of context when they read poetry, but many times I, as a poet, never reveal too much about the events that created the poem in the first place. Compassion's Guidance was written out of sheer terror, not because I was afraid of a homeless person, but because shortly before that I was attacked by Brianna's father. I was pushed so hard I flew across the room and landed back first, at that moment I couldn't hardly breathe, and my skull cracked. When I helped the homeless person, it was a cry for help for both of us. I have been homeless before, and I just wanted to give the person some comfort and sustenance to get through the day considering how cold it was. Sure, I was living in an apartment, but it was a horror movie inside day and night. I honestly didn't want to be attacked again, and since I didn't know this person there was a real possibility of that happening in my mind; it was a simple test of trust in humanity. I hope where ever the person is that the individual survived the winter and stayed safe. Everyone complains about the South's heat that clings to you because of the high humidity, but people never really talk about the brutal winters and how it affects the homeless. Nor do they speak a word against the police that never arrest the abusers until someone is murdered; hence the new laws in Georgia protecting victims. My children and I are lucky we don't live in such an environment anymore, and we are thankful every single day.

Compassion’s Guidance

The sunless winter envelopes you

When you’re not looking

Clinging to you

With a remarkable reverence

Amid those long frigid nights

When once a homeless man

Cowered beneath

A solemn wooden gazebo

By a spooky fog laden lake

I would calmly look on

Through the midwinter chill

That cared not for whom it scorned

With a biting

Twenty degrees Fahrenheit

I pillaged

Through my cupboards

Of a quite barren kitchen

Searching for packaged food

Of any kind

That would warm a fruitless soul

With a foundation of hope

To cleanse away

The cobwebs of doubt

I warmed up

A huge bowl

Of spicy chicken soup

Laced with herbs

To pacify

The medicine woman within me

I sealed it with compassion

To keep it fresh and warm

Hoping Jack Frost

Would keep his curiosity

At bay

I made coffee

For no reason at two

On that very murky morning

I stuffed as much food

As I could

In an old grocery bag

Even some aspirin I think

In case the man had a cold

One five dollar bill

In case hunger captured his soul 

I wrapped up warmly

Without hesitation

I opened

My apartment door

So very quietly

I trudged down

The steep concrete slope

My heart palpitating

Bravely within my chest

For the first time

In a quite long while

I crept

Tiptoeing ever so gently

Afraid of stirring

The shivering vagabond

Sleeping

On an unyielding picnic table

Terrified of breathing too loudly

For fear he might wake up

And notice who I was

Softly

I place the goodies

Down right beside him

And he shifted just a bit

I never spoke a word

I didn’t think it necessary

I didn’t think it relevant

The importance I surmised

Was his survival

Of one more

Wind swept wintry day ©