Palms Poem by Wilmer Van Ross

My palms are my compass
Stretched out to the sky to say a prayer
On my head to let out my despair
Open in front of me
With my knees bent
Head down
Do you have any change to spare?

Ties of emerald green and fuchsia
Briefcases, envelopes, books,
Polished and polite
Heads down, they pass
A million silent screams
Telling me to leave them alone.

My eyes lock with hers.
She stares at me in colour,
Eyes water like flash floods.
Cracked voice,
"I'm sorry you're here"
"I'm sorry I can't give you more".

She drops a five,
I smile and mouth,
"thank you, God bless".
My mind is at rest,
My heart is at rest,
I can rest.

I stretch my palms out to the sky,
Feel them
Against my cheeks,
Feel them
Filled with the warmth of fresh bread buns
Feel them
Under my head
My pillow
I can rest.