At My Door a Beggar
Eyes asking for plenty,
seeing I have enough,
he stands in the doorway
graceful in his rags.
I have enough to share.
I face my abundance,
his gracefulness, his rags.
Can I give what he asks
from my abundance?
He’s unbroken in his silence,
asking me to give
a morning no longer mine.
I’m broken in the silence,
lean away, smell what is
no longer mine: morning,
breakfast, tonight’s bed.
I lean away, but he smells
like music, forgotten yet
familiar as breakfast, bedtime.
Arms outstretched, he’s here
with music unforgotten,
here to take nothing,
long arms outstretched
inviting me to dance.
He’s here to take nothing,
eyes asking for plenty,
inviting me to the dance.
I stand in the doorway
Ione O’Hara has taught English as a Second Language at a local community college and at The University of North Carolina at Charlotte. She has facilitated poetry workshops, volunteered as a writing teacher in elementary schools, and has been awarded an Arts & Science Regional Artist Grant. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. The title of her chapbook is A Passing Certainty.
