Posts Tagged ‘displacement’

Don’t Know

January 10, 2018

Don’t Know

You don’t. You don’t know. It is insecurity—it is more than insecurity, more than looking up in the dark at the lights shining inside an apt. or house. It is being hurt over and over again and not knowing what will happen next. It is expecting the worst from life in spite of all the good wishes of this or that person. Homelessness—homelessness does that to a person. It rips the person apart, makes the person feel devastated and terribly alone in a snowstorm.





November 4, 2017


I have not felt safe. I do not feel safe because I am not.  I don’t know what safety is anymore. The last time I felt safe was so many years ago; maybe it was when I was a child and didn’t know what was to come. A safe place to live; a place with no threats of eviction, with no threats of anything harmful to me—all this seems an unreachable and impossible dream. It is a far away event. I can’t even remember it anymore. I dread what will happen next.



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.




Nasty Neighbor

October 5, 2017


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.





















September 30, 2017

You go. You come. You fight. You argue and I don’t know why. You say you care. You say you don’t want to be emotionally close. Only the people you lost mean anything to you. Those people are gone but you don’t care. You love them. I don’t fit in anywhere. I care but you pull away. Will this be it, the end for what I feel? My heart hurts; it truly misses you. It is baffled and confused. Is caring for you a crime according to you?

Our Spot

September 27, 2017

Our Spot

Get out! This is our spot! It’s not yours, it belongs to us. We were here before you. One of the 2 men shouted at the man sitting cross legged on the sidewalk in front of the pharmacy. They wore shabby T-shirts and trousers on the dirty side. The man looked at them. You don’t own the sidewalk; nobody does. I am here for a few days, a few days only; then I am gone. It’ll be all yours. He took out a small pencil from his pocket. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police, the woman next to the man said. She took out her cell phone and started to dial 911. The older of the 2 men made a gesture of disbelief and called someone with his phone. He said he has been here but I never saw him before. As soon as the 2 men left, the woman shook her head. What a horrible world this is! For a spot, a lousy spot, you could get hurt. That’s how it is, the man replied.



July 1, 2017


I sit. I sit long and hard. Time goes by almost without my knowledge. I get caught up in what I am doing and I forget. I forget who and what I am. Hours go by. I am sitting. I still do what I love best. Being invisible this time is fine. It is totally fine.




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.


Place, My Place

February 10, 2017


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.




Hard Tears

November 23, 2016

The face leans against the glass window of a closed store. It is dark. Tears try their best to come out. The mouth opens in an attempt at a scream. No! Don’t look! I don’t want you to look. What have I become? I am a thing, less than a thing. I have just sat for hours on the sidewalk. People walked by. Almost none saw me. The air was like ice. The cheeks hurt.  The legs were rigid. The legs were the legs of a robot.