BEHIND THEM ALL
--to all the beings who work and live in Tower One
Jesus crouched on the concrete,
His hands and face desperate
for the fresh air that might dart through
the infrequently opened food-tray slot;
His eyes, at times, were clouded in confusion;
At other times, the rebellion and rage dripped from them,
with or without tears;
Sometimes they were the eyes of a child,
wild and wonder-full;
And then, there were the eyes of Death:
a despair so deep
it would blast through this incarnation
if left unrestrained;
But behind them all,
the unmistakable clarion call of
"See me. See me. See me."
It was there.
It was there even when He refused to come to the door,
preferring to remain haphazardly swaddled
in a lone soiled blanket
on a stripped metal bunk,
His tender bare feet all to be recognized
from under the hopeless, anonymous lump:
See Me. See Me. See Me.
It was there.
He was there.
He was even there in the knuckles,
covered in non-latex safety gloves,
as they rapped on the glass with a necessary shout:
"You want ashes?...It's Ash Wednesday
...Ashes!...It's a blessing!"
A tentative offering of a weary forehead
to the kiss of blackened fingers
within a shroud of the quiet recitation
and a great wish that behind the text and the touch
will be heard:
"I see you. I see you. I see you."
shackled and shunned, aching for release;
We see You.
May we one day free You.