[Critique Group 2] 64-line poem for March 30 critique session

[Alice Massa]

Good Wednesday evening, Group 2 friends,

Please find pasted below and attached my piece (64-line poem) for the 
March 30 critique session, at three o’clock (Eastern Time). Welcome, 
Dawn, to our Group 2!

Best to all—Alice

* * *

*Once Upon a St. Patrick’s Night*

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

On a frigid St. Patrick’s night,

my Leader Dog Willow and I walk into the dry air of the waning days of 
winter

to hear the howling high winds and

to feel the descent of the single-digit temperature.

so very close to the first day of spring,

the wind chill will dip awkwardly to five below—

a temperature and a torment that makes me wonder

about the homeless people trying to survive such a heralded night.

I imagine

an officer—

man or woman of whatever color—

wearing a badge

that some people hate

without cause,

holstering a gun

which some despise

despite respect for laws.

On this frigid, fragile St. Patrick’s night,

I hear the officer plead with the homeless man

to minimize misery,

to choose survival at a shelter.

However, for a variety of unwise reasons,

the homeless man does not want to step a nearly frozen foot

into any shelter

because for him,

time does not change with the seasons:

time is frozen, and

his heart is frozen.

He is numb to the cold,

numb to the helping hand,

numb to life.

He coughs a long, prolonged cough

that seems unending.

The action of the officer

will not make the late news tonight.

The pleading kindness

will be heard only by the angels.

Words that echo ,

bouncing back and forth

between cold brick buildings

cannot penetrate the lost, frozen soul.

The two individuals do not speak the same language:

one speaks the language of the living;

the other speaks the language of

the lost, the freezing,

the hopeless, the dying.

Still the officer tries to communicate,

respectfully waits for a response.

With no thought to a badge or gun,

the officer reaches out a gloved hand,

takes off one glove,

then the other,

and gently puts the gloves

onto the freezing hands

of the homeless man.

Willow and I return inside

to the pleasant warmth of our home

to wonder about the homeless people

on this unusually cold St. Patrick’s night

when I will pray

to St. Patrick and all who will listen

for the homeless

and for the officers.

Total number of poetic lines: 64
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