Homeless


At week’s end
two images linger.

WE’VE BEEN TALKING
on Thursdays
about the man under the bridge
and
last Thursday,
as I listened,
I imagined
myself being there underneath
while cars overhead
rushed by on their way to Walmart.
And it stuck.

Then this other thing:
A running-away friend,
who,
no matter where she is,
she is itching to be elsewhere,
her HERE always so unbearable.

I’ve been places with her
where her antsiness is so palpable
that I almost can’t bear it
and have at times felt
like I am the baking soda
to her grease fire.

I heard from her this past week
and so she’s on my mind.

* * *

THESE TWO IMAGES –
the man under the bridge and
the running-away friend,
take turns
in my thoughts
while I stir soup.

But it isn’t until I sit
to capture on paper
what’s swirling
that I see them side by side,
both homeless.

About Marilyn

Reading, thinking, listening, writing and talking about faith, creativity, ESL for refugees, grief and finding the story in a story. Student of Spanish. Foe of procrastination. Cheez-it fan. People person with hermit tendencies or vice-versa. Thank you so much for reading.
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4 Responses to Homeless

  1. martindell says:

    Very good poem. Very insightful. It is important for me to remember that “homelessness” can take so many different forms, and can even afflict the most materially wealthy.

    Just yesterday I was playing a board game called The Worst-Case Scenario Survival game or something. One question asked what the proper way to deal with a grease fire was. There were three choices, one of which had to do with baking powder or soda. But would you believe, that was the wrong answer? They said what you’re supposed to do is cover the pan with a tight-fitting lid.

    Just thought I’d help. 😉

    Like

  2. It takes many forms, doesn’t it?

    Like

  3. Deidra says:

    So many of us with so much in common…

    Like

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