Home of a Chinese Homeless Man
Traci Neal
trash cans/ mini house/ my apartment— Beijing, China
holds/ a homeless/ man’s/ buggy— belongings
blend/ a S’more/ smile/ with warmth— sleeves worn
address him/ not/ through words— wave
for the world/ wools/ many miles— reminisce about
family/ the familiar/ each day— walk across
the street/ foreign/ teacher— text reads
black American/ at/ Chinese— kindergarten school
let English/ culture end/ on— an assorted pile
irons/wrinkle/ my/ native language— empty stain
wipes/ will not/ erase wishes— watch
a male/ shadows/ no shelter— kind sheet lips
will search/ and find/ jewels— others’ junk fits
greed/ craves/ altitude— attention satisfies
money/ marks/ motives within— a female’s fist
has yen/ given/ to this guy— from my pocket
it possibly/ meets/ a need—he never
hounds/ for help/ is just hopeful— graciously
hesitates/ to/ accept— insistent gesture
make/ his face/ float— my feelings show
rainy tears/ dampen/ darkness— attire arouses
deeper/ delight/ understands— the essentials
home is/ honey/ a harvest— happiness brings
a haven/ cleanses/ moments— change character
with sunshine/ dry out/ hate— love lifts
the Chinese/ homeless man’s/ home— in my heart
