A Homeless Man Stops Me to Ask If I’ve Ever Met Any Angels

A homeless man stops me to ask if I’ve ever met any angels I stop walking and tell him
Yes

I just saw them

The flower that still floats face-up in the pond

The little dog down the road that just can’t keep his mouth shut

The cashier that cut down the price of extra onion rings because he saw that I didn’t have enough

The people who work hard to pay rent

The posters that hang on my walls, being the voiceless faces of reason

The volunteers at animal shelters after hurricanes

The singers who don’t know my name but have saved my life

The person on the other end of a wrong-number dial who is happy just to talk with someone

The friend who told me he is gay in the middle of a bookstore

The old woman who works at the supermarket five minutes away asking about my grades and buying me grapefruit

The friend I’ve had since freshman year who makes math class enjoyable

The girl on the screen telling me to play “Fight Song” five more minutes

The babysitter who held me at three, whom I still talk to

The woman at Ulta who lovingly told me to not try blue lipstick

The girl sitting in the back at the dance with glitter in her face and a book in her hand

The piercer at the tattoo parlor who has kids and a sharp sense of humor

The priest who rides the streetcar with pride pins on his collar

The boy I thought I was going to marry in the fifth grade making me a flower crown

The bartenders who talk with the people who tightrope walk on the brink of their brandy glass

The little girl who offered me a stick of gum on the swing set and called me pretty

The friend who did my eyeliner on the side of the road

The woman who yelled that she loved my dress and green was my color from across the street

The ones who can’t look the other way

The ones who know when to riot

The cat in my backyard that would visit only when the sky was gray

The people I convince myself I will see again some day

The hearts that have been tricked a thousand times, beaten and bruised all shades of purple and blue, that are still leaping from chests, beating, bursting, still alive

So I face the man and point forward
Yes
She lives just up the street, and she makes the best spaghetti.