At the Meeting

Dear Ones, it is important for basement-dwelling introverts like myself to go among folks. This week, I have poem drafts inspired by being out in the world and noticing other humans. Today’s draft is inspired by a gentleman at the Quaker Meeting. At the end of the meeting, folks introduce themselves, and this man just captured my imagination. He will be in the drafts all week.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI am Vincent, he says.Eyes so blue they sparkle through his thick-smudged glasses.One stray wing of gray hair standing at the back of his head--like a flightless bird, perched at the edge of the bench.He smiles at the room, knows that more is expected,(a last name?)offering only what he knows is important to offer,nothing more.Vincent, who spent the meeting stretched out on a bench at the back of the room,basking in the light of a summer morning,in the radical acceptance of Friendsseparates the silence only enough to be known.