Who Are My People? by Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni

Mary

Megan

Who Are My People?

My people? Who are they?

I went into the church where the congregation

Worshipped my God. Were they my people?

I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.

My people! Where are they?

I went into the land where I was born,

Where men spoke my language...

I was a stranger there.

"My people," my soul cried. "Who are my people?"

Last night in the rain I met an old man

Who spoke a language I do not speak,

Which marked him as one who does not know my God.

With apologetic smile he offered me

The shelter of his patched umbrella.

I met his eyes... And then I knew...