Paper Dreams

I was walking the downtown streets

swerving right and left.

“Excuse me,” was said, seeing only feet.

It was the holidays but I felt bereft

of any hope for the new year.

Standing at the corner waiting

for the crosswalk to clear

I see a man with a sign stating

that anything would help him

fight the hunger of homelessness.

People fill the street where cars had been.

I try to keep my eyes motionless.

Don’t look and you won’t see,

I told myself as I step to the curb

but he reaches for me

I turn to him perturbed.

“Why me,” I whisper to no one.

“You look lost, young man,”

He answers. I am stunned

to silence and I simply stand

while he lets go of my arm.

“Do you want to see my dreams?”

He asks me. I step back alarmed.

“No, wait.” From the pocket of his jeans

he pulls out a handful of paper pieces.

Waiting on me, I nod yes.

A smile fills his face with creases

He gives me one from the mess.

A tattered slip with smudged words.

“Write a book” I read.

“These are my dreams. Like birds

I keep them safe and clean

from the hardships of this life.”

He sees the question in my eyes,

“I had a son, daughter and wife.

Fulfilling that dream is my demise.”

His voice broke and slow tears appeared

on his weathered cheeks

I started to speak but feared

not hearing the story’s peak.

“I lived my greatest dream, a joyful family

My son, one, daughter was three

Yes, it was a fairy tale, happily

we were. But listen to me…”

The crowd flows around us.

Nobody touches me, invisible we

seem to be to the holiday bustle.

“I couldn’t keep the dream close to me.

It was Christmas 10 years ago.

I worked late so I could stay home

an extra day. Traveling in the snow

a truck ran a light. From a phone

call I learned of losing my dream.”

Silently, I stared back in time

with this man. Forever, it seemed,

before he could speak the next line.

“That New Year’s day I wrote

all the things I wanted to do in

this life on paper. I broke

seven blisters on my skin.

Now I hold them all close

so that they won’t be taken away.”

He grabs from my hand enclosed

his dream of writing someday.

“My heart can’t handle another loss.

Be careful young man with this,

tapping my chest. “The cost

of reaching a goal is not bliss.”

He turns from me and sits

with his sign and the past.

From my pocket I pull a shopping list

I decide to write something fast.

I rip the paper in two.

I hand a piece to the man

with a word he knew.

Silently, he folded it in his hand.

The second piece I hold

with a word I read aloud.

Then I let it go into the cold

wind. His eyes a storm cloud.

“Believe,” I repeated the word.

I move into the crowded lane

hoping, but knowing it absurd

that he would let go of the “Pain.”