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158 : The Kingdom of God on Sixth Avenue

You should have seen the crowd that

surrounded him

an old man

hunched over

worn down like the

Appalachian mountains

bending over his walker

nothing on his feet but a double pair of socks.

A friend of his,

the same age

with an unshaven face

and a sweater that probably smelled

of cloves and peppermint-

grandfather smells,

called a cab

and opened the door

but the walker fell

and neither man could help the other.

You should have seen the crowd.


A middle aged woman with

strawberry blonde hair

rushed to the curb

picked up the walker,

angled it just so,

the progress was slow;

so an African American woman

cradling roses in her arm

held open the door

reached for his hand

held onto elbows

worked together

until slowly but surely

both men made it

off of the street and into the cab.


And when they were finally safe it was the

cabdriver- an immigrant,

English not his first language,

maybe not his second,

who loaded the walker

into the trunk

and tenderly nodded

to his wind-worn cargo in

the double layer of socks,

as if to say- “You’re safe.

You’re safe now.”

And the crowd whispered amen.


You should have seen it-

the way they surrounded him,

the way they prayed.


The kingdom of God looks like

a village of stranger that will

catch you when you fall.


I wish you could have seen it.




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Hi, thanks for stopping by!

I'm Sarah (Are) Speed, the writer behind Writing The Good. I'm so honored you're here! To get more poems, follow @writingthegood on Facebook and Instagram! 

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