Looking for faces as the winds whistle,
calling us into dark places and the rains
that make you wonder if they
have taken cover,
relief from the thought the weatherman’s
forecast predicts higher temperatures
in the Village of the Poor.
If only every home–a home for homeless–
had a fireplace to warm the spirits of men
along with the feet and hands.
The night follows the day
and we pray this winter’s cold
will bring back the smiles of those
faces of springtime again.
And how do you ask the question
when one’s face already tells the tale,
faces to have an attitude of commitment
to end inequality among men?
Today is the day we look for faces
and we ask the question of the Poor
when they only need
a home and
an honest day’s work
and a place to put one’s things
that have no thoughts.
I thought when I looked at her face
I saw the pride of her years.
I heard the soft words she spoke.
For why,
in the twilight
of her years,
does
she
not
have
a home?
The face of that old guy
who frowns
but is quick to greet you
with a toothless smile
and a laugh
that says
I’m still alive!
Oh! When I think about the faces
of mothers with children
sleeping in cars
with no gas for heat
and how they hold each other
tightly to warm their
hearts along with
their hands and feet.
The faces of the homeless youths,
the thought of what aging
out of parental care
has brought you to,
a city unaffordable to you
even with the work you do.
Looking for faces with sad eyes
to ask a question:
Have you known
homelessness, too?
The faces of the unhoused,
looking for faces
to ask the question:
Did the Lord help you, too?
