Archive for October, 2017

The Curb

October 31, 2017

The Curb

She was near the curb; he was sitting next to her. He had a suitcase; she had a purse and a bag. It was dark—7 o’clock in the morning of a fall day. The milk crate hurt her back, but she had to sit somewhere. She had to do something to be there with him. People walked by. It was the early morning rush; they were the ones that arrived at work before the others had to. They walked fast and never glanced at the man and the woman. She shivered; he put he covered his head with a hoodie and looked at the sidewalk. How long will this morning last? It feels long, so long.

 

 

 

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The Push

October 12, 2017

The Push

You just threw the house keys on the floor. Here, you said. I’m done. You slammed the door behind you. What pushes you? What pushes you to use words that can only hurt the one closest to you, the people who stand by you? What has made you bitter, bitter enough to lash out, to get the unseen sword from its not-so secret hiding place? What need is there in you to criticize, to find the bad and not the good in people? I try hard to understand, to get to the bottom of it all. I am baffled.

 

 

 

Cannot

October 12, 2017

Cannot

I cannot touch you. I cannot kiss you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. No matter how near you are, you are unreachable. There is a Stay Away invisible sign all around you. Your skin is forbidden to me. I dare not get close to it. It is too tempting. If I got close, I would get used to all of you. I would lose myself in passion.

 

 

Eviction Ville

October 7, 2017

Eviction Ville

The threat—the threat is always there. No matter what I did or how I do it, it rises up like a deadly snake. I cannot stay in this or that place—I cannot stay there, wherever there is, for long. It is only for a short while, for a few weeks, a few months if I’m lucky. I have to go—it is ordered, it is forced upon me. I don’t want to but I have to. There isn’t any other way. There is only Eviction Ville.

 

 

Nasty Neighbor

October 5, 2017

Nasty

There was a knock on the door, a heavy knock. The woman opened the door. She saw a bleached blonde standing before her. Oh, yes, the neighbor from the second floor, she thought. The blonde’s face was angry; her wrinkles were prominent. Do you know that your cat meows during the night? Is he feral? Feral? Of course, he isn’t feral. He’s a stray I am fostering. You’re not fostering him. He hasn’t even seen a vet. Yes, he has seen a vet, the woman behind the door said. Then why is he meowing. That’s what cats do. You bitch! I am going to call the ASPCA. I’m going to have you kicked out. Don’t call the ASPCA. On second thought call them. I’m helping the cat. The woman on the inside of the door shrugged her shoulders. Enough! I am tired of these people. If it’s not one, it’s another. Unsafe—now I feel more unsafe about housing than ever. It’s like I can never be home. I can never have my little sure thing space somewhere, anywhere.