Homeless eyes

I roll down my window and stuff a small wad of crumpled bills into his weathered hand. Then for an instant my eyes meet his…deep blue pools of regret and desire. The light turns green and I pull away. I feel my chest constrict imprisoning the sob that is trying to escape with my next breath. I’m not sure why I guard my tears so militantly. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid that once the weeping escapes, there will be no end to it. The truth is, an oceanic tide of grief engulfs me when I encounter eyes like his. I grieve for his condition…and for mine. I mourn because of the chasm that exists between us, which for one sacred moment disappears. And all at once I am his mother, his daughter, his sister.