Posts Tagged ‘food’

Life without Dinner

November 18, 2016

Life without Dinner

Not today—definitely not today. Not last week, either. Not even a month ago. How many days, how many nights, without it? It once was called a square meal. A square meal seems like a dream, like it happened so long ago that it never happened at all. It’s bread and cheese. Bread and cheese with maybe a small yogurt. That is what passes for dinner these days.





Loud His voice was loud. His voice is always loud. The fat man shouted. The woman spoke softly at first. The fat man shouted again. The woman shouted back. Why? Why are you doing that? He asked her. Why do you give her food? I’ll give food to whoever I want to, the woman replied. The fat man’s voice sounded like an instrument in bad shape, one that hadn’t been fixed in a long time. One person nearby was listening to the fight. I want to. I want to go away. She didn’t mean any harm by giving me some spaghetti. She was being nice. Why can’t the fat man just shut up?

November 10, 2016


October 20, 2015


There was small container of food on a counter. The woman wearing the long thick coat stood by the counter getting a drink of water. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man’s hand. It grabbed the container; the man went towards the door. The woman looked at the back of his body. Stupid bastard, she thought. Do you think I am hungry and desperate enough to take that tiny little bit of food? You have to be kidding, guy.

Buy Food

October 13, 2015

Buy Food

The man and woman walked by the church. Each was holding something green. Buy food! Buy food! The man shouted as he handed each sleepy person on the steps of the church $20. Don’t be foolish! Use this to buy food.


July 15, 2015

“Food for everybody, guys.” The man’s voice was loud and clear. Some had already left. The van with the sandwiches and muffins from Upstate New York must have been held up in traffic. They couldn’t wait anymore. “Here he is.” A station wagon approached and park by the curb. The driver, without saying a word, got out and open the back. The women lined up first. They made a long line, but not as long as the men’s. Two of the women pushed each other. “You always want to be first, sister,'”the younger one said. “And so do you,” said the other.”Stop fighting, girls. You remind me of cats the way you scratch and fight,” the driver told them. “Just wait your turn. You’ll get yours same as the others.” He turned his back on them and started distributing food to the men.


March 4, 2015

The person had short hair, almost crew cut style and dark hair, dark skin. The clothes were on the beat up side, pants and a sweatshirt. The person held on to the pole while the train was moving. “I get my food and clothes from the garbage. If you have any food with you that you don’t need, I’d gladly take it.” Nobody answered the person. A man touched the person on the shoulder and put several coins inside the plastic bag hanging from the person’s left  arm. ” Thank you, sir,” the person said smiling a bit. The person moved towards the middle of the car. ” It can happen to you. It can happen to any of us. I get my food and clothes from the garbage. Could you spare a dime. Only a dime.”

The Cookie

December 27, 2014

The room was all lit up. The line at the soup kitchen had been long that Friday night and the gaunt  woman was in front of the last table, the one with all the pastries and other dessert type foods. “What can I have?” she asked the young volunteer standing behind the table. “You can have some slices of bread, a cookie and something else.” “I’ll take the raisin bread, please, that cookie and could I have that pudding?” An older volunteer stood to the right of the woman. She wore a long missionary type dress. “Did You get anything from here?” “Yes, I did,” the woman said opening her black bag. “Then, you can’t have this cookie.” The cookie was small.

I am Them

October 7, 2012

I Am Them

My Tia, my beloved Aunt, when she was evicted years ago. My friend Nadia when she was living alone and forgotten after her days of glory. I have their stories in my brain and in my soul. What they suffered, I suffered. What they felt, I felt. Now it is my turn, my turn to go through experiences that are overwhelming to say the least. My poor Tia paid 3 times the market rate in rent for a dilapidated 2 bedroom house-like apt. in Buenos Aires. That high price was illegal on the landlady’s part, but she still got away with getting the extra rent money. And my Tia had no home after all her years of hard work and honesty. Nadia lived with her 3 dogs for company. They were her family, the only family she could count on. They were there, even if the food supply was iffy, even if she couldn’t walk them as often as they needed to be walked. She was tired. My Tia was tired. She lived for 10 months after her eviction; then she gave up and closed her eyes. Nadia fought until the very last minute for her life. The dogs screamed and yelled. Nobody paid attention until the fire dept. got in and found Nadia dead clutching her house keys by the front door.

Now I am fighting a battle similar to theirs. I am evicted. I don’t know how this happened, but it is like another foreclosure. This one feels worse than the first one 7 years ago when I lost my home in GA. It is a hard blow. The experience is surreal, as if it were a horrible dream somebody made up just to make me sad. A bad dream to show me that I cannot have a home.


September 20, 2012

Any time of the day or night. Someone goes by a trash can on the street. She sees something interesting, sometimes it’s food, sometimes it’s a newspaper, other times it’s a book. She puts her hand in and takes it out. Yes, I’ll take it. I can use this. I never used to do this before, but I need to spend as little as possible. Life is different now. I just don’t have it. Now I have this.

The Pizza Slice

March 7, 2008

Friday, March 7, 2008: I sat down to dinner with my sister and her family. A few minutes earlier I had seen her take 2 small pizzas out of the freezer. I looked at them and wondered: Will I get one this time? After a few minutes in the oven, the pizzas were put on the kitchen counter. Can I have one?, I asked, looking at her husband Dave as he bit into a slice. No, there’s not enough, was her answer.
Whatever happened to sharing?