Speaking of Angels

The least of them the greatest was what Jesus once said
Not realizing how I seemed destined to meet unlikely saints
Like the big guy in blanketed trash and dingy stairwell
As black nights rained on Toronto’s mean streets
I handed him a dollar or two as he stared hopeful
You’re a lady and a scholar he quietly thanked
Walking home I felt strangely encouraged as if
He had helped me not the other way around
I often wondered…

Then came the glaring coldest day of January ever
No one moving in such weather but the homeless guy
In my head I heard he needs your help today…
Down to my last dollars…how? But I stopped
Rolled the gritty window down on the old VW
Crumpled bill rippling on north wind as he waved
Broken thank yous and grins that stuck around
Days and days…

Long ago in abandoned times a guy named Lado
Ran into him out of the blue in threadbare coat
Journeyed from Africa to Canada some years ago
No family and a small room rented near a church
Smiled like sunlight and prayed and prayed
In his home language a strange blur of words
Said he didn’t know his age or date of birth
Explained how his Father had never told him
And when his prayers for me were answered
A miracle I had to tell him and track him down
But no one had ever heard of him I was told

That’s when I began speaking of angels

Copyright 2011 S. Michaels
Five Star Notebook – Life Poems

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