For the Woman Living in the Park I Jog Past by Ashlee Spear

You are the God who sees me, Hagar cried

when the angel found her

in the desert. Slumped toward death

but she marveled not

at the angel’s promise of life

& descendants. She marveled

to be seen.

So forget the stash of granola bars you keep

for people like me. Forget

your assurances, your prescriptions, the lines

of the tract and of holiness and just

turn your head

half an inch. Just gather your attention

around where I sit, for once and walk

toward the air that touches my skin

until we both are breathing it in,

and then like God,

just like your

God, see me.

Ashlee Spear lives in Southern California and is a Spanish teacher and mom to two young girls. She is passionate about the power of writing to connect us and let us know we’re not alone. Find her on Instagram @ashleespear.