Once a week I deliver meals in my neighborhood. It’s not officially Meals on Wheels but a similar program coordinated by the Council on Aging with food distributed by various community centers.
I have my favorites, just as a teacher to her students: Mr. G, Rose, and Mrs. R. I look forward to chatting with them and sometimes having a sip of coffee. It’s almost a cliche now but ‘I get more from them.’ Yes, Rose has given me homemade loaves of bread and Mr. G. shows me items cleaned out from the closet before he calls the Veterans’ organization for pick up. But I’m talking about something intangible. It’s corny but true: they awaken my compassion to greater depths. They make me smile, feel appreciated, and give me gratitude. With affection, I call them ‘my people.’
So it seems only appropriate that Mala Poem #2 be dedicated to them. Here goes:
108 Poems, #2
I hand them a bag of meals.
All smile and tell me thanks; but those
who share their stories get my thanks.