Last month, I started writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa in our Stafford Challenge small group. I’m continuing so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. One thing I appreciate as a writer is that during times when I’ve barely got my head above water with all the energy and demands from life and work, there are prompts to get me started – – which, of course, is the most important spark. Today, the prompt hits home in tender spots, asking us to write about what we feel when we see a homeless person holding a sign on the corner or to tell about a specific person that perhaps we didn’t pay attention to.
Here’s Your Sign
some topics hit deep
too deep to think into ~ I’ve
known a sign holder
and what got her there
I’ve witnessed her miracle
of overcoming
I know the power
of a mother’s fervent prayers
for a daughter lost
when I see homeless
sign holders I feel this pain:
that’s a mother’s child
Common Threads 
You slice reminds me to always see another as a human. To also see that as someone who has a mother.
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Sally, thank you. Life has its twisty ways of showing us things we may have never seen unless we’d walked a mile with someone.
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Kim. you certainly dug into the topic of being homeless. Thank you for choosing this topic and gently providing your thoughts.
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Thank you, Carol. I meant to tell you that commenting was turned off on your blog yesterday, but I read it and enjoyed it. You always have an inspiring word.
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Kim,
Your poem is a restoration of humanity. Too often those who hold signs are vilified, but as teachers I know we must know someone whose life has gone sideways to the point they hold signs, but for me the strongest part of this poem is the end:
“that’s a mother’s child” Indeed, it is. Last fall we met a woman and her daughter in a local grocery store parking lot. The daughter was playing violin. The mother held a sign. The mother did not speak English. I had no cash, but on our way out, I used the ATM and withdrew money and took it to the daughter and mom. I was afraid to tell Ken how much but did tell him when he asked. He didn’t get mad. That surprised me, too.
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Glenda, I feel your dilemma. I, too, waver back and forth with monetary contributions. I often ponder the empowerment versus enabling conundrum, and often I will give a few dollars – enough for a cup of coffee and small biscuit. I can hear the words of friends: “they’re professionals…..they make more than you do with a full time job and benefits….” So be it. The good Lord will sort that all out. I appreciate your encouragement always.
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This summer – I had seen so many sign holders. I wondered how that can be? How can America have such desperate poverty and what is the solution? I know this is not new – but it never changes – there must be a solution for addiction and poverty.
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I agree. We must focus on solutions. I pray our leaders will suddenly snap out of their myopic bubble and look around at those not living on the hill.
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Kim, your reminder that all “sign holders” are someone’s child is an important message for all of us. I have seen more “sign holders” in recent months both in my suburban area and in NYC. I cannot give to everyone and focus my gifts to local food banks and shelters, particularly ones for women facing domestic violence. However, the need to focus on solutions for aging, addiction, homelessness is far greater than any one of us can solve. I continue to pray for all those children and their mothers as well.
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Anita, I have also seen more lately, and in the most unexpected places. Thank you for your kind words!
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Living in a city where in the normal routines of life, I frequently see the homeless, the sign holders, the destitute, the streetwalker, the angry… I see the buildings boarded up against the night violence. I see beautiful neighborhoods trashed by “street dwellers” along the curb who pile up unbelievable garbage and human waste. I witnessed a shoot out in front of my house that put 4 bullets into my home, shattering windows and passing through walls… and the police officer who spoke with me at 4 that morning said there is no safe place in our city. Just yesterday I heard how a homeless person ripped open a package delivered to my neighbor’s porch and took what she wanted, left the packaging, spit out on the porch the protein bar that she had unwrapped and tasted. I’ve pushed back on a stranger who was under the influence and keep him from going into our yard…. And it angers me that this is the condition on our streets. And I ask why? And I don’t have any answers in the natural. Yes, I often sit at a red light, waiting for it to turn green, and what I see causes me to feel the pain, and I think what you wrote in your lines… “that’s a mother’s child.”
And then I remember my dear friend who once lived on the street and has been restored…. and I pray for them, for me, for my children…
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Alice, that sounds scary to have had bullets in your home from a shootout. On one hand, I want to say our world has changed so much. Then I see my husband watching westerns on TV and rethink it. It’s always been a scary place in so many ways. Thank goodness we have writing to help us find some peace and make some sense of it all. If you ever need to get out of the city, come to rural Georgia and have tea on the front porch with me!
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so well expressed in just a few lines. To pay attention is to see and relate. To remember someone else that you have cared about and connect them to the stranger in front you you. This is a deceptively simple, beautiful piece.
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Thank you, Fran!
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