Archive for the ‘displacement’ Category

No Place

April 25, 2017

No Place

He hadn’t shaved in days. The smell on his body was unmistakable. He hadn’t taken any showers lately.  His tan jacket was too big for him; he had lost a lot of weight. His trousers needed a better belt. He talked about the old days and how things had been good for him back then. It wasn’t so long ago—maybe 3 or 4 years. He couldn’t remember; he thought it had been in 2012 0r 2013. His voice broke a few times, recalling people no longer around. No one dear lived near him. They were somewhere else; they were in a place he couldn’t even dream of reaching.

 

 

 

Who?

April 18, 2017

Who

Who will tell you not to seek out danger? Who will say to you: Don’t do this because no one will bail you out? When you climb down the stairs to go out into the street who is going to talk to you in a firm voice, a voice that will stop you from using the half open door?  Are you listening to other commanding now or are you, as usual,  with people who expect others to rescue you? Are you with those who will hit you because you are on the couch taking a rest? How can I protect you now? I don’t know where you are anymore.

 

 

Corpse

April 3, 2017

Corpse

It was a corpse. The cat was dead. Through the wire fence she saw the corpse of an animal. The two sisters used to sleep together under the trailer in the lumberyard. The blizzard had killed one of them. They were all they had. Now the remaining cat had to fend for herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Could I?

March 31, 2017

Could I?

He stood near her. The man was thin. His face was unshaven. He wore no T-shirt or sweater, just some tan-colored pants. Could I speak to you for a minute? The woman looked down at the floor. She shook her head. No.  The man repeated the question. His voice was gentle. Please. Just for a minute. She turned to look behind her. There was an empty can of beer on the floor. No. I don’t have time. Someone got hold of the man’s arm. He seated himself on the bed.

 

Cats

March 22, 2017

Cats

I have lost my 2 cats. They’re gone. Somebody opened the door(or didn’t let them back in)  and they are nowhere to be seen. I don’t know where they are. I cared for them. I fed them. I rescued them when they got in trouble; when they were on the rooftop or on the street somewhere. I was and am their true owner. I actually cared what happened to them. I miss my cats. I wonder where they are; whther they are cold or hungry or in some sort of danger. little Big One and Young Miss. I named them. Before that they had no names. Young Miss was always hungry. She could eat anything and everything. I never saw a cat, male or female, with as much appetite as she had. Who is feeding her now? Young Miss used to go out, then meow at the kitchen window to be inside again. Little Big One liked danger. Before he was neutered they would let him out and he’d disappear for hours.At first,  Little Big One did not know what obedience was. I taught him. He learned to listen to me when I told him not to do something  that wasn’t good for him. Whoever says they owned them–those people don’t know what they’re talking about. They l ike to manipulate, to twist things around and appear in the right when they’re not. They let other people do what they should have done: be caring pet owners.

 

Ownership?

March 2, 2017

Ownership?

I own the cat. The fat man’s voice was loud and strong. My boss gave him to me. But do you take care of the cat? Do you feed him, take him to the vet, see to it that he gets his shots and is neutered? No, the fat woman said. You wanted to do that. But it is required. Any vet will tell you that. And were you born in this country? No, the woman answered. Then you are undocumented just like me. Me like you? I am an American citizen. I can’t be like you. You are uncouth and rude. The argument went on and on. The fat man pretended to dial 911. Let’s call emergency, he said. We’ll say that there is a schizophrenic woman here. She’s been making threats. The woman watched in wonder. She was living in a nightmare, a horrible nightmare with these people. It couldn’t be real. How can it be? How did I get to this point? The fat woman insulted my mother and called me a scarecrow and I don’t know what else. How can I be with these people? I am not safe here. I have to go.

 

Shadow Game

February 23, 2017

The door of a room was open. A woman stood with her cat. She made a noise, a noise she did not intend to make. The man, she thought. The menace will wake up if he hears it. Another door opened; the fat man stood several inches away from her. His eyes were not friendly. She could tell this even in the dark. As she was about to close her door and pull the curtain, his shadow looked like danger. Quickly, she shut her door.

 

Place, My Place

February 10, 2017

Place

A Place, a place with a capital P. No one knows the importance of Place better than the homeless. Finding a place to live, a roof over one’s head is important, often more than important. It can be a matter of life and death. My heart is in agony, sheer agony. I cannot afford the street, the sidewalk, and I cannot afford a roof. The first is cold and stiff and the other has to have lots and lots of dollars attached to it. I look for answers. I have been looking for answers for years. I have found nothing.

 

 

 

The Menace, Part 2

February 2, 2017

The Menace Part 2

It was late at night. A cat had slipped out of the woman’s room. The cat was a healthy cat; all she wanted to do was run around the house she thought was hers. The fat man walked into the kitchen just a second after the woman had gentlypushed the cat back inside. I am sorry, little one, she told the cat. The menace is too close to us. I want to protect you from that thing. The fat man stood looking about him; his beady eyes had meaness in them. His legs were wide apart, as if ready for a fight. The woman watched him from behind her closed door. She swallowed hard and sat down in the dark.

 

The Taste

January 20, 2017

The Taste

I can see it. I can feel it. I can taste it. A home—it is a home; it should be my home. The home is a welcoming place. Nothing can ever hurt me inside my home. It wants me and my soul. That is the same soul that hungers for peace and quiet, for a way not to be rejected and unloved. I walk by a building. There is an apt. in the basement. The window is made of clear glass. I see a stove, a table with 4 chairs and a tea kettle. All those things should be mine.