Member-only story
What is a helping hand?
Ignore, pity, dismiss, berate, how do you truthfully respond to the less fortunate.
I passed her on the street, huddled in open despair
Quivering on an island of cardboard, to stay clear of the grime
She gazed past me, a phantom, as if I wasn’t there
Eyes, like caves of sorrow, gazed forward, questioning the brutality of time.
I wanted to reach out and cast a speckle of hope
My fingers blazed pristine, manicured — I chose to hide them in my cuff
She held her battered paper cup, her banter pleading charity’s trope
Her soiled fingers thrust forward, trusting that kindness would be enough.
The merciless trundling of feet shuffled past without thought
Each click, clatter and crunch drove a spike into her soul
She was lashed on hard cold stones, a life bitter and hard bought
But her spirit was resolved, she still clamored for control.
The faceless eyes glanced away, too intimidated to be involved
She cared not, she held her dreams, to a higher world she evolved.
With no alms to spare, I knelt beside her, eager to speak
When engaged, her eyes filled…