Welcome to this place I owned;
My home, prison, university
And universe.
These are the same streets
You trample on your way
To your office days;
Our There, I descended into their covert life;
I deciphered the hidden messages
In rheumy eyes stationed
Behind cups of coins.
I learned a fresh dialect
Of my mother tongue,
Whispered or shouted
Into the wind that chills your face
During your brief walks
From parking lot to office.
I joined
A new tribe and faith;
The saints we praised
Had tender hands, warm smiles
And hot meals to offer;
We found shelter
In packed dining halls, where we trudged
In predown gloom, drizzles and flurries.
Yesterday,
I marched in a church parade;
Children toted signs urging passersby to
Help the poor;
Ragged men on sidewalks
Waved and cheered;
I greeted each by name.
This was the place which owned me,
Where I slept restlessly in a cardboard mansion.
This morning, I bathed beneath steamy water as my cup of tea
Cooled on the kitchen counter;
I’ve escaped and graduated,
Returning only as a tourist
Bu tonight, a thousand friends and colleagues
Will sleep among the the brittle softness
Of falling leaves,
And I will
Remember.
–David Harris
