I shivered in the quiet
Late winter evening
When some days feel like spring.
This was not a spring time poseur.
It was late winter
Through and through.
I wrapped my coat tighter
As I walked down the cracked sidewalk
In my old white chucks,
Jeans, and a lumpy blue sweater.

The church wasn't quiet
That Thursday evening
There was a fundraising dinner for missions
And we hadn't quite finished setting up.
The wealthy mingled
With the middle-class and the homeless.
No one knew or cared for the difference.
We were putting forks, and spoons, and knives
On the round tables
Together.

I followed the old lady in charge
As she told me to get this, get that,
Find something or another
In the chaotic decorating closet, 105.
Room one-oh-five.
That old lady is something else.
Short of stature,
But not lacking in attitude,
A penchant for wreaking havoc,
And one of the most wonderful people I know.

She was there, with her gray-blue eyes
And slow Southern drawl,
Talking to another lady.
Visibly uncomfortable,
Out of place.
Wiry black  hair,
Turning gray around her face,
Eyes fretful and brow
Creased with worry.

I hadn't seen her before.
Her name was written in
Scratchy script on a laniard
Which means that she is homeless.

I said hello, introduced myself,
And went about my work.
She worked alongside me,
As we were given tasks
In hasty preparation
For the dinner.

We worked in silence
For some time, not awkward,
Just busy.
She began to talk.
I wasn't paying close attention at first.
But I quickly realized she was telling me her story.

That's all we have, you know?
Our story is the only thing people can't take away.
They can't take away who we are,
In the narrow confines of our skull,
And whatever else there may be.

I had a hunch she was new to being homeless.
A hunch that she confirmed.
The seasoned and practiced have a look to them,
And the new have a look to them,
And you get accustomed to it
After some time.

Her husband abused her
And she couldn't take it anymore
She had two kids,
Both in a local high school.
I don't know where they are.
She doesn't know how she's going to pay for college
When she's out on the streets.
She doesn't know what to do
Where to go
How to work the system just to get by.

This is what I know:
These people I've come to love
Just want to be useful
To have a purpose.

We're all going to be big stars one day, right?
What about them?
We all want to change the world.
But we can't do it with our eyes only looking in the mirror
And our hearts cold.

We,
All of us.
Every single one of us.