Wool ear-flaps red birds winging
in a hard Chicago wind,

she sits on a camp chair outside
the Whole Foods. Her cat-eyed

glasses are duct taped on the bridge,
in a camouflage coat run rugged

around the cuffs, and a stack of Streetwise
on the armrest. She sings Proud

Mary off key and loud enough to carry
past the El running staccato beyond

the parking lot and the harmonics
of indifferent tires shushing up Broadway.

“Haven’t seen you in a while”, I slip
her a bill and wave off the paper.

She blesses me repeatedly,
her voice guttural against concrete,

grinds into Amazing Grace,
raucous as angels on the street.

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Regina Berg is an emerging poet from Chicago, IL. now residing in Pflugerville, TX. She writes from the intersection of memory, wonder, and curiosity. Her poem “In My Mother’s Last Garden” appeared recently in Bluebird Word.