Sunday, December 23, 2012

Metro encounter


I spot the man
across the jostling metro.

We eye eachother,
not suspiciously.

older- graying hair, wrinkling face
eclectic- Native American jewelry, colorful clothing
white- light skin

observations. judgments. assumptions.

The train slows, I stand.

"Is this Glenmont?"

He tosses the question
over the divide.

I toss back.

"Takoma Park, you have several more."

I lose my focus.

It peers at me brightly,
the tie-dye emblem 
sewn onto his shirt.

A cross.

Eyes widen, a smile.
The game of catch continues.

"I like your cross."
"Thank you," he softens. "God bless."
"God bless you," I respond.

Suddenly, 
we are even players
on the field.
We are people of blessing.
We are brother and sister.


Why did it take 
a symbol
for me to yield?

To recognize that
we all belong
to one another?