He carefully placed his foot
thoughtfully, deliberately,
in front of the other,
as if
he was walking
on holy ground,
or on a journey
to some profound
destination
diligently pursuing
his passions
into the wilderness.

He sat at the table,
joyfully ill at ease
as if he were
an honored guest
whose welcome came
unexpectedly,
undeservedly.

He lifted
the dark
multi-grained
bread,
lovingly made,
to his thankful lips
remembering
so many other meals;
the day old
factory made bread
once
perfectly similar
to every other slice
before being squished
onto the shelves
of the outlet store.

He remembered
happier times
when he would take
the hard sour dough rolls
and a slice of cheese
or apple
that his mother had provided
with him as he disappeared
into the woods
for a day long
childhood hike.

Quietly
he listened to the clamor
of his brothers and sisters
as he shared a brief smile
with the soup kitchen
volunteer.