I'm Italy Mom and this is The Slowdown.

An estimated 100 million people around the globe are homeless and 1.6 billion people

lack adequate housing. It's a problem that haunts the United States and the rest of the world.

I see it more and more in cities I visit, whether it's Seattle, San Francisco, New York,

or the city where I live, Lexington, Kentucky. Like many of you, I've pressed dollars into

people's palms and offered blankets or food to folks I've encountered on the street.

But it never seems like enough. Or rather, it simply isn't enough. I know this.

Officials the world over have tried to address the worsening crisis, it's ongoing,

it's systemic, and it's been exacerbated by poverty, trauma, the mental health crisis,

addiction, and the pandemic. I am not sure if we will see the end of the homeless crisis

anytime soon. But one thing is for certain and important step is to remember the humanity

of everyone who has suffered homelessness throughout the years. Today's poem honors the lives

of those who have experienced homelessness and does so with a particular attention that is also

a call to action. Park Benches with Teeth by Muhammad Elkard.

I live by people whose beds are a pillow and a blanket, a bus seat, a seatless bus stop,

a cold, hard pavement, a potential they slept on or were robbed of. I live by people whose dreams

are adequate, but not selfish enough, whose dreams are without adjectives, postponed,

pocket-sized, and famished. Told to find the glass in the sand, hungry dreams of spat out,

generosity, and cement, defanged, not a dollar is a blanket, not a guilt is a table to place meals

on or discuss their humanity around. Not a sound nor a nod can make my fury monetary when I hear

shivers crackling like fires from my bedroom. Not a poem nor a post is enough to turn the post

they live under into a tent, not one of them has bent, gathered our prayers, and weaved them

...