don't walk?

at the busiest corners

of our lives, where

our toes tap out

a staccato of anxiety,

our knees buckle

from the weight

of the doubts

stuffed in our backpacks,

our hearts thud

to the beat of despair

in our earbuds

you stand . . .

the faded signboard

reading

Who do

YOU

say I AM?

chaffing your shoulders,

while little sister, Sophia,

hands out icecold bottles

filled from the aquifer

of hope.


and

while the flashing red hand

freezes us into place,

you pick up those

cobbled together pieces

of grace,

stepping firmly into

life's flowing traffic

glancing back at us,

as if to ask,

'you coming,

or not?'

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman