“Are you homeless?”

she asked,

penetrating my self immersion.

“No, why?

I responded, a tad vexed.

“Because of your bag,”

she said,

pointing to the shopping cart

I was wheeling behind me.

“I am homeless,”

she shared.

I stopped,

emerged from my shell.

We stood

face to face

under a first quarter moon,

meeting each other.

Yolanda was her name –

engaging,

loquacious,

deeply rooted in her faith,

enamored of the Celestial Realms.

She spoke of harrowing experiences in the local shelters,

of the inconsiderate and dangerous conditions  –

especially

for a woman

alone.

Just a year ago,

Yolanda had a home,

a husband,

was employed with a car.

A divorce rendered her without,

leading to her sleeping

outside

for the first time

on a frigid and blustery night.

Yolanda alluded to

grown children,

yet gave thanks

only to the kind strangers

who kept her fed

and still alive.

“I will pray for you,”

I offered humbly.

And I have,

and will continue to

pray for Yolanda

and all in our human family

on their own

out

in the bitter cold.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be!

We are each other’s keeper!

Indeed, we are each other!

When did we forget this?

No mere coincidence,

my time with Yolanda.

Divinely orchestrated,

potent seeds planted.

An assignment awaits.