Confession to Montgomery, Asleep on the Church Steps

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bagels and cream cheese MGD©

Confession to Montgomery, Asleep on the Church Steps

If I walk quietly by
it is not to avoid disturbing you,

but rather myself. What
could I give you

but another bagel, the
boiled dough of nothingness

rising in cloudy water,
delaying, perhaps, another

guilty twinge. You have no
answers but when you

speak to the air, sometimes
a smile creaks through

the broken words, and I
think even in this cloistered

darkness we may close
the circle between halves

and might-have-beens,
an understanding, if only

in the language of bread
and coffee and the

disregarded. But today I stride
on, without pause, counting

on nothing that can’t be
pocketed or spoken aloud,

my steps echoing down
the alley and its secrets,

along the crosswalk’s painted
guides, under the sagging

power lines and through
your streetlight’s dim halo.

Homeless

122 thoughts on “Confession to Montgomery, Asleep on the Church Steps”

  8. And how to help…sometimes the sharing of food…helps for a second…sometimes those who appear so helpless, so needy, do not want to be helped…they want to be left alone. I discovered this when my husband was part of a PTSD group at a VA in Arizona. I’m struck by the dog who shares the space with this person. Powerful image.

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  14. This is beautiful, heart wrenching and somehow wistful. The circle and commonality, the discomfort and the feeling of somehow having dodged having another life completely, and your Confession ending with “the dim halo” … these my mind is holding onto – in awe.

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    • Thanks, Peri. Had I taken a few different turns, or been a little less lucky on occasion, my life could have been drastically different. It’s difficult not to consider that when walking by someone sleeping in the street.

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  18. Beautiful, Bob. I can relate to the emotions and thoughts. This is actually something I’ve been thinking about more and more lately, when I see the same faces regularly on my way to and from work and I seem to get paralysed by an internal debate that carries on way after I have walked by, and then the guilty after thought that maybe I should turn back. It is a daily reminder of my privelage and my failings. I’m trying to work out what the best thing I can do is.

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  21. Wow! This is a poem that tells a huge story, and does it in only thirty short lines. As Scottish poet Kenneth White once observed, a poem is the shortest form of story, and this is a truly powerful one. Marvelous work, Robert!

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  25. Interesting reaction to this presentation. When I started reading I only saw the bright picture of the bagel and read the words as such. Then when I finished I suddenly saw the picture of an apparent homeless man, on the sidewalk and it hit me like a hammer. Everything changed, I got lost in my emotions. I will have to reread this at a later date, knowing what is to come.

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  26. Wow. I saw the picture of the man on the street with the dog first because that’s how the app works on my device. Then when i opened it up to read I saw a bagel and I was like okay? But reading through these words? They ceased to be mere words and took up a life if their own. I live in Northern Nigeria, seeing children, mothers, men and very old people begging on the road and living in terrible conditions is too common place and yet no matter how much help is being invested in them, you find replacements and you begin to wonder If it’s demographic, religious or mental. But that’s just my isolated opinion of beggers in northern Nigeria. I am sure it’s different in other places.

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  28. Cool poem. Poignant. Simon Armitage writes some pretty awesome poems about homeless people and even lived as one for a little while to gain a better understanding. This one is his famous one, called give:

    Give
    Simon Armitage

    Of all the public places, dear
    to make a scene, I’ve chosen here.

    Of all the doorways in the world
    to choose to sleep, I’ve chosen yours.
    I’m on the street, under the stars.

    For coppers I can dance or sing.
    For silver-swallow swords, eat fire.
    For gold-escape from locks and chains.

    It’s not as if I’m holding out
    for frankincense or myrrh, just change.

    You give me tea. That’s big of you.
    I’m on my knees. I beg of you.

    Yours reminded me of that, which is awesome, because he’s awesome. Keep writing (:

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  36. this is so nice… it really speaks alot. it aches my heart everyday to see the amount of hardship goin on around; makes me appreciate my privilege and at d same time contribute my own quota. This piece really illustrates the passionate struggle many of us go through in our day-to-day life… …Im glad i read this piece…. Also, id like to ask you to please take some time out to read my page and im very open to suggestions …

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  45. Pingback: …but Home is Nowhere – Joe Optimistik's Parallel Dimension

  47. Snap, brother O. It ain’t right, all these people on the street. Downtown Los Angeles has 50 square blocks that are owned by the homeless. The gentry are not pleased; they supplied the stat. Against this backdrop, I recognize the structure’s hand in the creation of the growing numbers of homeless, particularly the political banksters running the show. Give a bagel, don’t give a bagel; nothing will change until it is no longer beneficial to the invested. I think this applies to the homelessness seen around the world. Too many are displaced, refugees, traumatized. Individuals cannot fix this. Keep on peeping it out, brother O. And, here is another snap for your insight.

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  48. Robert…I was homeless once. Because of a very abusive relationship, I suddenly found myself on the street with nowhere to go. Lucky I was in Hawaii at the time…at least, I couldn’t freeze. I was 36 and had relatively good health on my side. I stayed up for 5 days in a row once, because I was afraid to fall asleep. A hundred kind gestures of a bagel and coffee would have warmed my soul every time, for sure.
    A man walked up to me one day with a single rose and said, “it’s not that bad” …and then he walked away. He made me smile. I don’t know who he was.
    I remember sitting down next to a very ragged looking man who was obviously homeless also. I was tired of walking,had nowhere in particular to go, and I just wanted someone to talk to. I looked at him, shrugged and sighed, “I’m homeless too.”
    He replied, “What? No..You can’t be! You can’t be homeless! You’re the wrong kind! I’m worried…you’re going to get hurt!”
    I started laughing through my tears and said, “Good heavens! I didn’t know there was a right or wrong kind! Are there classes for this?”
    He said, “Wait. I have enough for 2 cups of coffee. I’ll be back in a minute and then I’ll tell you my story.”
    He was Vietnam Vet. I couldn’t help but notice that his fist impulse was to try and protect me…and not himself.
    And to this day I wonder…why do so many of our military
    veterans end up fending for themselves, alone and on the streets, in the country they defended?
    I met a lot of people during the time I was wandering-!and I heard a lot of stories. For some reason, (even though I wasn’t that ‘right knd’ to be homeless), I never got hurt.
    Long story short…I would never have seen a bagel as the boiled dough of nothingness, because I would have seen the love within the offer and the oving kindness standing right behind it.
    And if cream cheese had been added? Oh…pure heaven.
    It’s the little things that count. 🙂

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