None

None

I look around me again and I see none. I cling to some of my favorite things for comfort—things that used to strengthen me in the past. Sorry, they say, we can’t do it anymore. If you want to held in a symbolic way, you’ll have to look elsewhere. Where? I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. Where do I look for what you once gave me? I remember how I felt when I held you. I felt you were my friend and that I could tell you anything. Time is running short and I don’t know where I’ll be in January—cold and harsh January in theEast Coast. Will I be out getting all the snow? I have to worry about it now. Tomorrow or next week might be too late.

 

 

The Singer—Doors—Any Doors

The Singer—Doors—Any Doors

The subway door opened. She was one of the first to go in, other passengers entered behind her. The thin white cane helped guide her to the middle of the wagon. Have yourself a Merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. Next year troubles will be out of sight. People around her talked, some laughed. None looked at the woman. Her voice shook and she stopped singing. Coins rattled in the tin cup she held in her right hand. The train made a stop. The cane guided her out. Across the platform, another train pulled in. The woman walked towards the doors. Iwish I didn’t have to do this.

Done

Done I want to say that I don’t care whether I spend another holiday by myself or not. I want to say that it’s no big deal, that there are things I should be grateful for. I can’t. I can’t lie because lomeliness is something I will never be able to digest easily. . I do care and it’s not a pleasant prospect. Years gone by were different. I never had to worry about getting through Thanksgiving on my own. There was someone there, a friendly face, for me to look at. I really don’t care about the food being served (or not served). Company is what makes a holiday good. It’s who you spend it with. The rest—the turkey, the stuffing, the side dishes, the pumpkin pie or the tiramisu—that’s unimportant. Totally unimportant

Moving

Moving

Moving—going from one place to another. I have trouble doing that. I have done it too often and the changes have not been good. Pretty words have comforted me for a minute or two. I have felt better and stronger. This will be a good thing, some have told me. The change came because it had to and it wasn’t good. It was often (but not always) similar as I what I left. I am comfortable here—here meaning wherever I happen to be. This may or may not be true.

 

 

Shivering

Shivering

It was wet. It was cold. The temperature had dropped 20 degrees. The movers had told her they’d be there early. She looked at her watch, the watch with no wrist band. 1 P.M. 2 P.M. Almost 3 in the afternoon. Cars passed by and its drivers looked at her. Some stared. What was this woman waiting for? She was surrounded by boxes on the right, boxes on the left. A woman driver smiled. It isn’t funny, the person waiting wanted to say. You try this and then tell me how amusing it is. Enough. I want to walk away. Just not care anymore.

No Place at All

No Place My belongings and I are displaced—totally displaced. We are nowhere and it is painful. My belongings and I have no home. It is real. It is no lie. We might as well be in the middle of the sidewalk. We wait in vain for someone—anyone—to come pick us up. We look here and we look there at the people passing by. Nothing. It starts to rain and we get wet. All the cardboard boxes with the Burberry coat and my father’s red velvet jacket in tnem could get ruined. I would lose the memories. I would not have the look on my father’s face when he bought me the velvet jacket. He smiled and hugged me before helping me try it on. We were prosperous and he wanted to treat me to something nice. My father reminds me of expensive things. I do it for what was then because I can never forget. But if I could, I would put us all in a home, a home with big closets and lots of sunlight.

Up Close

Up Close

The eyes stared at me. The big brown eyes of the man I loved. They wanted something. I was afraid. There were other people in the room  and I didn’t want them to know. It felt as crowded as Grand Central in NYC. We were in theparish church office. I wasn’t supposed to know him well. I wasn’t supposed to love him.  I swallowed hard and I spoke. What I said made him think I didn’t care, that he was a stranger to me. He sighed, looked down at the floor and left.

 

 

You Stood

You stood there, on the sidewalk, a small little blond animal. You can up to me and I petted you. Hello, doggie, I said. You looked like you had just smiled. I crossed the street to go to the supermarket. You followed me. When I came out about half an hour later, you were still there. Come on. We crossed the street togethe and I led you up to where I lived. our time was so brief–6 weks. in that time, you were my soulmate. You knew what I liked without my telling you. You and I were like. I miss you and when I die, I want to see you in Heaven.

Give Up

Give Up

I tried so many times but I couldn’t give you up. You were so important to me. Being with you was the closest thing I had to happiness. Your company was a pleasure and when they told me that I had better not be with you anymore, I got angry. I couldn’t understand why people would say that to me. Give you up? I couldn’t let go. You died. Even so, you are in my heart. I think about you and I am strong again.