From Diminished To Redeemed

There are those who hurry past

Afraid to make eye contact

They act as if you don’t exist.

Like you’re somehow less than human now.

There are those who look on with derision, scorn.

They look at you as if you had no right to be born.

.

Moving away before you can say a single word,

Worried you’ll strike like a hidden thorn

They look at you as though they’ve swallowed a particularly sour curd.

Ignoring your sign, along with eye contact,

They’ll flee in self-doubt or the arrogant belief that this could never happen to them.

His cup fills with quarters,

Pennies, nickels, dimes, a few dollars too.

Those who hurry past toss in a pocketful of change,

Hoping to alleviate their guilt,

To move on with their day.

The occasional dollars falling out of compassion,

A cold beverage and a hot meal of empathy.

.

Pennies tossed in out of pity,

The insulating belief that it’ll never happen to you.

You’ve got it all figured out.

That is something you’ll never go through.

So sure that misfortune will never strike.

If only he’d pull himself up by his bootstraps,

It’d all work out with a little hard work.

.

Did you know he served three tours?

Returned with PTSD.

Greeted by a government that promptly turned its back on him

For no longer being of any use to them.

Did you know that he’d been an athlete

And working in construction before?

But now all the banging and clanging is a trigger.

It never was before.

He still does what he can

When his mind is peaceful and at ease,

But his income isn’t reliable enough to ever sign a lease.

.

Nickels tossed from guilt.

You’ve jacked up your tenants’ rent again,

Knowing the family in 2C is barely making ends meet.

You know that next month they might be erecting a shelter from cardboard too.

Yet you’re always ready to issue a notice if a tenant is a day late with their rent.

So you drop in nickels out of guilt.

Believing your two homes and vacation property means you’ll never be in his shoes.

.

You’ve given no thought to the $7 you’ve just spent

On a medium coffee, no less.

For that man, your five-cup-a-day habit would mean food in his belly,

Or maybe a new jacket,

Shelter from the cold.

Kindness doesn’t cost much,

Why not allow it to take hold?

.

Dimes dropped in, stemming from fear:

Hurry on your way,

Can’t risk that houselessness may be contagious,

Or that today will be your day!

Last month was hard,

You barely made your biweekly pay stretch from one week into the next.

.

The rent, utilities, groceries, and your child’s basic needs,

It’s all so overwhelming and leaves you quite perplexed.

One unexpected medical bill will bring you to your knees.

There’s no way your boss would grant medical leave no matter how you’d say, “please?”

With one missed payment,

You know your landlord would be quick to terminate your lease.

.

Quarters coming from compassion,

She sympathizes with your plight,

Wishes to ease your pain,

To know you will be all right.

Her kindness means she’s not going to turn away

She will not flee in fright.

Moments later, she returns, offering a meal,

And a smile just as warm.

.

Her brother went through a rough time when he returned from overseas.

She looks at you, and his familiar face is what she sees.

He didn’t survive his eviction,

The hopelessness of homelessness had him ending his predicament,

And his life too.

So now she promises assistance with genuine conviction.

.

Some drop in dollars,

An expression of their empathy,

These days, it’s usually, such a rarity.

The lady has kept her word,

She has now returned with a friend:

This gentleman has been in your shoes.

Chewed up by the system,

Discarded and abused.

.

He offers you his hand,

A guest room where you can stay.

After you’ve had time to rest,

He’ll introduce you to a friend who will allow flexibility,

Sensitivity to your condition.

A job that will provide stability and help you to pay.

In time, you can do this,

You’ll be well on your way.

.

The man continues,

He spent three years on these streets,

Downtrodden, gazing at the sidewalk,

Counting the daily parade of thousands of feet,

Few ever stopped to help him,

Either with donations or guidance,

He needed someone to lift him up and help him regain his balance.

.

Instead, he was left to suffer, and starve, living as a bum on the city street.

Now, he will never pass by another in need,

Determined to help,

To see others succeed.

He’s here with you now and wants to help you proceed.

.

He knows what it’s like to go hungry,

Your tears spilled against your will.

To spend nights cold and angry,

While the day scorches, the cold nights can quickly kill.

If you’re ready to stand, he’ll aid you along the way.

Are you ready to move forward?

Will you accept his help?

Speechless now,

You nod to say that you will.

Trying to stem the tears of gratitude as they helplessly spill.

. . .

This piece was inspired by a number of stories and firsthand experiences. I’ve been an activist since my teens and around 2002 I began doing what I could to aid the homeless population, at times volunteering at homeless veterans’ shelters, other times friends and I would hand out food, clothing, sleep out in solidarity to raise awareness. We still do what we can in our own communities and it just never seems to be enough. There are more people losing their homes by the day. The stories that I’ve heard and the people that I’ve met are ones that will never leave my heart or my mind.

Several years ago my family and I experienced homelessness for a time and while we were fortunate enough to find placement in shelters and I was then able to stay with a friend, the experience was harrowing, to say the least. During the time I was in a shelter, we had to be outside from 6am until 6pm, you could not go back in to use the restrooms during the day and I quickly discovered that most businesses in the area were not sensitive to the plight of being homeless. If you didn’t purchase something you could not use their bathrooms. The city was not kind and I was terrified to be out on my own in a place I’d never been and knew no one there.

You are denied the most basic of needs. When it snowed or rained you still had to remain outside. The library was a thirty-minute walk from the shelter so when the weather and my health allowed (I was in a walking boot, dealing with bone spurs on my toes in addition to dislocated knees that were only just beginning to heal.), I’d be able to spend some time there when it was open.

The second shelter did not provide a locker as the first one had, so during the 13 hours we had to be outside each day we were required to carry all of our belongings around with us. Then, when needing to use a bathroom you’d face suspicion because you were toting around a carry-on or backpack. Some would expect you to leave your belongings out on the sidewalk, purchase something, and only then would you be allowed to use the restroom. Thankfully I made friends with some of the people who were in a similar predicament and we’d watch each other’s bags while going in to use the restroom. Although, prior to that there were times when I’d be praying my bladder would hold for another two hours until the shelter opened up and I could use the bathroom!

Two months of that and the daily derision from strangers who had no idea who I was and what I’d just been through, was only a small taste of what those who live on the street 24/7 have to endure. It is not an experience that I would wish upon anyone. As someone who has PTSD I cannot fathom how anyone, especially our veterans, is able to survive out there on the street.

During solidarity events, I recall waking up in the middle of the night because others (addicts as it turned out) were trying to steal from some of the homeless vets and my friend’s backpack while we’d been asleep. Those who are able to find small homeless communities watch each other’s backs and sleep in shifts. Which is precisely what we did after that. However, far too many are completely alone, and if they doze off at night it’s not just a matter of freezing to death that they need to worry about. Sadly, things are often just as bad inside the shelters (fighting, violence, robbery, assault, abuse) and many would rather take their chances out in the open rather than in the shelters. This does not mean that they don’t want or need help.

They do. They absolutely do.

Sadly, the resources in place often take several years to come to fruition, if they ever do and there just isn’t enough of an effort to see to it that these people are being helped. So, no matter how tight things are for me, I know I’ll never turn my back on those I meet and I hope that you won’t either. Homelessness does not discriminate and it is incredibly difficult to overcome. One’s humanity is never diminished due to them having been rendered homeless. Please don’t forget that.

. . .

If you've enjoyed reading this, please consider giving it a "like" by clicking on the ❤️! If you'd like to read more of my writing, be sure to subscribe! Tips and pledges are voluntary, and so greatly appreciated!

This poem was originally published on Medium: