Robert Bruce | Knife Gun Pen

In the final years
he had nothing left

His family was gone
his close friends had died
his money was securely
in the hands of others

He lived alone in a
one-room apartment
near Echo Park
in Los Angeles

Every morning he’d joyfully brew
a small pot of cheap coffee
and with it
eat a single slice of
bare toast

This simple meal would
send him out into the sun
walking toward his
beautiful park
toward his old green
bench

He wasn’t much to look at
there on the bench
something like an old
scarved
Parisian
baker

But the pigeons would come
and then, eventually
someone would stop
and sit

A few would stay
with the old man
tell him their
stories
their sorrows
their triumphs
their hopes

One by one
through the day
he would listen well
he might speak quietly
of his own pain
and of
the only One
who loved him

He’d pray
for each one
that crossed his path

He prayed for each of the
pigeons
too

Around 7pm
he’d slowly rise from his bench
and walk home

This is how
the old man’s final days
were spent

Then
one day
the green bench
was empty

Another day
went by

And another

Folks from the park
began to worry
and then they began
to search for
the old man
but no one knew
where he lived
most didn’t even know
his name

It didn’t take long

A police officer was called
to investigate the stench
coming from a certain
one-room apartment
near Echo Park
in Los Angeles

They found him in there
face-down
on the floor
his coffee cup
gently overturned
and a single slice of
untouched
bare toast
on the table

Turns out
the old man had
cancer-of-the-something
and of course
one day he just
couldn’t do it anymore

He died penniless
and alone
in that little room

A wealthy businessman
came forward to pay for
a simple casket
and grave

A young girl put up a
small hand-drawn flyer
in the park
announcing a memorial
service for anyone
who may have cared
to come

It took the movers
15 minutes to clean out
the old man’s apartment
nothing of value really
they hauled it all into a dumpster
and moved to the next job

A quiet end
to a quiet life

A few days later
a bright Saturday
the pigeons arrived
in the park
and began perching on
the green bench

Then the people
showed up
one by one
and in larger groups

Just a few at first

Then the flood

The Police were called in
to manage the crowd
as it swelled
but they weren’t needed
after all

3,000 immortal souls
came to the park
that Saturday
for the simple funeral
of an unremarkable
old man
who had lost
everything
and in that
profound losing
found
the only thing
worth having
and giving
in this
world

for Brennan Manning

(This poem is a re-telling of a specific Manning story, from which book of his, I can’t remember. It has haunted and humbled me for over a decade and I thank him for it.)