"The Gift Without the Giver is Bare"

“THE GIFT WITHOUT THE GIVER IS BARE” 

inspiration:

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,

In whatso we share with another's need;

Not what we give, but what we share,

For the gift without the giver is bare;

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.

-          James Russell Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal

Prelude:

                        I stand,

                          somewhere,

                            between Levite and Samaritan.

                        trying to help,

                           without getting too involved.

                        trying to not look away.

                           without getting caught in a gaze.

                        trying to clean,

                           without getting dirty.

                        and yet,

                           I feel tainted, sullied,

                                    unfinished.

                       

                        I.

                        A baby

                            not a half year old

                            propped in a carrier

                                on the table of Good Samaritan breakfast,

                            tiny arms hanging limp

                            waiting passively for the next morsel of syrup-soaked French toast

                                 from a teenage mother's fingers,

                            making no sound

                            while the mother sliced bites of her French toast

                                and ate in silence––

                                                                            no affectionate stroking

                                                                            just passive acceptance of another day

                                                                                 in an uncertain future.

                        II.

                        “Could you use this?” I asked

                            in the small, tidy Good Samaritan kitchen,

                        as I placed fruit, vegetables butter––all I could carry––

                            on the counter––

                        “Leftovers,” I said, “from a celebration dinner at church,”

                        III.

                        I signed the contribution book and walked out.

                            passing the breakfast table, lined with transients

                        shaken by stark, silent figures of hunger and displacement,

                        IV.

                                                                         and wondered what I'd do about it.