dread the sun and the day
people will see me in my
disarrayat least in the dark of night
some may trip over me and most
just see me and they just
walk away.
i curl up, cuddle with my blanket
and all that i own in my plastic bag
my shoes a shirt and socks kept dry.
when my stomach rumbles loud
people sneer at me with words "disgusting".
when the sun brings the light, i sit up,
i don’t lie down during the day because
people kick me, throw their trash
on top of me thinking they're throwing
it away. i guess it's because i use a trash
bag as a cover to keep me dry.
i don’t want to be like this
but
i now can’t get up because my army
fatigues, my pants, are now crusted on me.
the stench of relieving myself.
(had to do this, in the bush, in Nam)
they retain the water and a digested roll
a woman threw down while walking by.
give them anything you’re just enabling
their ways. i think she was just throwing
it away but thanks
shared half of this roll with a young mother
and her young daughter who hide behind
a trash bin. mother doesn’t speak english
daughter doesn't speak just looks down.
they're too proud to be seen as homeless.
mom's afraid someone will take her child
away, separate them and deport her
wish i could get up without
disgrace,
without offending anyone around.
i would try to find a faucet some place,without offending anyone around.
freshen and clean my face,
greet the sun as it brings the day
where i used to sleep before,
a river flowed nearby. it was a paradise.
it had grass and a bush to sleep in,
a tree to lean against, it felt of home.
a place where the young mother and
her todler would welcome and appreciate.
i can’t recall where it is, though.
it’s hard to find my way in the dark.
my eyes no longer young, my muscles
now flaccid, don't want to be seen in daylight.
oh well that’s life. back to my darkness and
dream about food, about water, the bush and tree
and maybe a nice little clean dress
for the mother’s daughter
*for Susan @ Poets United using 'light and dark'
*dedicated to my brother passed away in the streets of los angeles,
hopefully while dreaming. Also, to forgotten homeless Vietnam Vets.
Oh, my friend, so sad about your brother. You have imagined his existence well and I so love that in his distress he wanted to help the mother and the little girl........that is typical of street people, I find - they have nothing yet are so generous. It must have saddened you so much to learn of his passing, in such circumstances. I am so sorry.
ReplyDeleteIt is not so easy to find any light in this dreadful plight of a human being down on his luck.
ReplyDeleteyou tug my heart man...i have worked with the homeless for years...at kitchens and shelters...and on the street....trying to give them a bit of dignity...a meal...companionship for a bit...they all have stories...many not too far different from ours....heart pinger for me man...
ReplyDeleteThank you for this amazing saga of a man who doesn't lie down or sleep in the day and but can only move in the night time when he could lie down and sleep. Mental stress is a constant condition of homelessness and at times the cause of it. But which of the passersby acknowledge such reality? How hard this must have been to write given your brother's story! Writing in the first person so vividly is a gift. Showing him caring so much for others is another gift. Thank you.
ReplyDeletewhen i read this i felt such an urge to help the man... its a flawlessly potrayed story in your words... loved it!!
ReplyDeleteit's a heartbreaking story...his dream and helping hands shine in that abysmal darkness...
ReplyDeleteNobody chooses that way..it seems significant you use lower case throughout..the world and circumstance can shrink us to nothing..I think it is a very respectful and loving tribute to your brother..I hope too that he was dreaming
ReplyDeleteBeautiful portrait of a human being. The paradise he wanted to share with the mother and child reminded me of a homeless community down by the river in a city where I was doing volunteer service as a student nurse. . . the river bank, it was their home. The authorities came and confiscated all their tents and sleeping bags, which had been given to them by donations from service organizations and churches.
ReplyDeleteIt is a difficult life to be passed over when you made a sacrifice for the people that pass you by. A poignant piece you have placed upon these words.
ReplyDeleteThis breaks my heart. So many people - so many good people - in this situation. There are stories and stories, and blame enough for us all.
ReplyDelete