Station Hope

We turn the corner and we’re greeted
by the crescendo of a gospel choir.
We move toward the parish hall,
wind down creaking hallways,
wait patiently at the top of the stairs,
and finally we descend.
We see dancing,
feel the drums,
stare at mirror images,
study a silent crying woman.
They are moving,
but they are not why we came.
Finally, we see it.
The Delivery – from the mind of a man,
to the faces of these women
to our common, open hearts.
These women’s words make us
uncomfortable, angry, and hopeful,
as we should feel.
They make us laugh,
as we hope they did sometimes.
They make us cry,
and we need to.
And the only thing we can say after
is “Jesus.” “Wow.” “My God.”
After, the air is frigid,
and though we fill it with our own
warmth and laughter,
we’re still reeling.
These women join us.
They stand with us.
They laugh with us.
And when one of them asks us
for a cigarette, and we have none,
my sister tells me later
that she’ll always regret not having one
because that was her chance
to give this woman something in return,
and she came up empty.

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1 Comment

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One response to “Station Hope

  1. LOVE. Exactly how my heart wanted to describe it.

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