Down Broadway on Sunday morning
It’s early,
Sunday-speaking,
as I drive down Broadway toward the Bay.
I drive, I pray,
searching, finding that empty place inside me
where She lives.
I settle in, and then
I pass the tents, crowded together
In the park,
folks moving slowly from the ground
where they spent Saturday night.
Cigarette smoke rises over their heads:
a little bit of comfort to start the day.
My prayer, then?
It’s hard to find that empty place inside me.
She is murmuring,
“I’m here,” she says.
She has settled in on the grass next to the tents,
searching for a bit of comfort, too.
Mary Elyn Bahlert, 10/31/2019
meb/11/5/2019
TheWisdomYears.org 
Gentle, vivid reminder……thank you!
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I’m late seeing this as the notice for it wound up in my spam folder. I’m glad I noticed it before deleting. Such a beautiful poem. Thank you.
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