The man found himself in his
Old neighborhood
Where passersby lock the
Car doors realizing
They made a wrong turn and
Hope to get out of
Town before some random
Bullet crashes through
The window and into someone’s
Head. He stood close to
The wall of the church his family
Attended when he was
A young boy. He looked at little,
Colorful stones attached
To the wall. He looked up and
Down and all around
At all the beautiful stones
And then he took
one step back and then another
And another and
Soon he stood across the street
with his back
To a burned-out drugstore and
Before him on the wall
Of the church was a beautiful
Rainbow and a black
Jesus sat where what otherwise
Would have been
A pot of gold. He had a warm,
Loving, open-lipped
Smile on his face revealing
Dazzling white teeth
And he held out his up-turned,
Open hands with the
Wound in each palm. It was
As if Jesus
Was beckoning everyone who
Passed to come home
To the true pot of gold
Right there where
They were. The man stood and
Basked in the
Glory of Jesus in the ‘Hood
And then an alarm
Sounded. Frightened, he looked up
And down the street
For a police car before he awoke.

*idea from a meditation by Henri Nouwen