Friday, November 29, 2013

The box

The beggar hands me a box,
a gift, small and compact,
no wrapping or bow. He
pushes it into my hand,
fearing I will refuse it, and
then walks away, disappearing
into the sidewalk, crowded.
I look for him but he was gone,
truly, as if he had never been
there. The box is smudged,
as if it had been held a long time
by dirty hands, I don’t know
whether the beggar’s or my own.
I open the box.

Photograph by Pennie Gibson via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Martha J. M. Orlando said...

And, I'm left guessing, what could be inside?
Loved this, Glynn!

Paul Stolwyk said...

Love this ... "I don't know whether the beggar's or my own ..." thanks

Paul Stolwyk said...

Love this: "...I don't know whether the beggar's or my own."

nance.mdr said...

oh yes
we all
and receiving
not always