Poem by Glynn Axelrod

Gleaning
​
Lining up at the food bank,
neighborly encounters.
I drop off pancake mix, 
cold sausage, chocolate 
milk from our fundraiser,
cancelled in Covid-time. 

Homeless men and women
on downtown streets so long 
pantry workers greet them
as friends in strange vicinity,
not entirely strangers,
not completely local.

Housed locals enter quietly 
depart quickly 
or accept offers 
for door-step delivered meals. 

A woman not far 
mails surgical masks
to her roofless brother 
by way of a local 
knowing his creekside camp.   

Is a mendicant holding a bowl 
on pilgrimage less hungry 
than a roofless man 
with family keeping distance?

Finger-ping of the bowl is a bell,
attention to the virtue of less.  
Roofless man is attended
by his own practical credo. 

In Paris, passing a child 
holding out her hand to a crowd
rushing up a Metro staircase, 
woman beside her weary.

Wrong train, running back 
down deserted steps in time 
to catch the woman 
berate the empty child.

Picking these words 
for thought, not work, 
leaves me wanting more, 
an eater of other courses
and meals to give 
instead of memory. 

Lynn Axelrod is a community organizer in her home area, a northern California coastal village. She’s been a reporter for a weekly newspaper, an environmental NGO staffer, and an (early-retired) attorney. She has an undergraduate degree in literature, pursued graduate lit. coursework while teaching freshman courses, and has studied with several well-published poets. She continues reading literature, poetry, history, and current affairs. Her work has appeared in several journals, in print and online.