Archive for the ‘displacement’ Category

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Menace

January 17, 2017

The Menace

He stood with his legs wide apart. His thick and fat arms had tattoos all over them. The look in his eyes and face resembled the look that a security guard has before he kicks/escorts an unwanted person out of a building. A cat had escaped from one of the boarder’s room. Je told the fat woman with the dyed hair that the cat was not welcome in his living room. Since when was it his living room? The boarder adjusted the belt around her thick robe. Something in the pit of her stomach told her to shut the door of her room. This one is a menace, she told her cat. We want nothing to do with him. How dare he threaten me?

I was Great–Once

December 25, 2016

You don’t know. You think that because I wear ill-fitting clothes and shoes that have seen better days, I a m not much–much of anything. You think that my life was always ragged and topsy turvy. No. You don’t know. You don’t know me and it’s no use my telling you that I was like you, or almost like you, once. I could do anything. I had resources. I could go anywhere and not have to ask strangers for help. I didn’t have to feel like Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire.

His Macho Land

December 25, 2016

I am beyond myself; I am more than beyond myself. The fat man with the pony tail saw me go out the door and when I tried to get back in, the door was locked. The fat man had been drinking. His excuse the time was Christmas Eve. When I confronted him and said that it had been wrong of him to do what he did, he just looked at me with his beady eyes. He pretended to be innocent and mentioned something about my having respect for his home. I stared at him. His home? It isn’t his home anymore than it is mine. He’s just lucky to sleep with the landlady. At one point he snapped his fingers at me and in his broken English, told me to go. Fucking Bitch was what I heard when I closed the door of my room. The fat girlfriend, the one with the dyed red hair sat in her chair watching all this saying nothing. I had to tell her to please shut him up.

Sidewalk Face

December 24, 2016

Hit the ground. Yes, just do it. Just hit the ground. Do it now. Have part of your face, the cheek area, touch the pavement. Fall asleep. Fall asleep while you are seated on the milk crate. Before you know it, you’ll be down. You’ll feel blood in your face. No one will be there to pick you up and send you somewhere warm.