The Man Wearing A Red Shirt

I see him silhouetted against the cool gray dawn of the city
on a street full of rich houses protected by huge iron gates
forbidding and frightening; the wealth must feel alien to him.
He is leaning against a tree with his shoulders drawn back
his red cotton shirt has the texture like that of artificial flowers
his eyes are distant and confused like he woke up in a dream.

For a second, I imagine him in his homeland on a morning like this
he is sitting outside, under the flowering almond tree in his courtyard
his children are running around and one of them shrieks in delight
while his wife is hunched over the wood stove and the dog by her side.
The smoke obscures the scene for me, protecting their private moment.

I feel my heart ache violently like I am experiencing a quake.
Is this compassion? Empathy? I feel the beauty of my heart.
I look at him and I decide to carry that face in my memory
I pray for him and his unborn great grand children
and I offer solemn, beautiful tears to mother earth.
May he find peace, beauty and safety for him and his family!