Posts Tagged ‘woman’

Not Heard

December 1, 2015

Not Heard

It is indifferent. It is not seen, not visible. The struggle to amount, to stand out and be counted among one of the fortunate ones has failed. The effort was great. No one could have said that there was no perseverance, no push towards something better. No one would have dared complain about lack of interest on her part or not enough drive. She had enough drive for 2 women. If one thing did not work out, she tried another, and another and yet another one. The feeling inside her made her anxious and a little afraid. It told her that it wasn’t right, it shouldn’t have happened that way. This life wasn’t her real life; the one in her soul was the genuine one. Her outside actions didn’t count for much. They just showed the world, if they cared to look, a woman, a woman down on her luck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Lost Woman

July 6, 2014

The line was not long that afternoon. A man stood by a long white table. “Sandwich? Orange? Milk? Juice?” “Sandwich, no milk, no orange, just juice”, she told him. He gave her the stuff , putting it in the white bag, and she walked down the 3 steps into the street. “Happy 4th.” A woman said. She looked at her, seeing nothing. The heavy makeup on her face made her look older; only the eyes had a little bit of life in them. “Happy 4th of July,” the woman repeated gently. “Is it the 4th? I didn’t know.”

The Woman and The Ice

January 4, 2013

The Woman and the Ice

A frigid night in Manhattan. 24 degrees but feeling colder. Bags were by her feet. The old woman held a thin blanket around her shoulders. People walked by on the way to the subway. One woman wearing a beautiful brown mink coat down to her ankles looked at the old woman and then looked away. The beggar’s wrinkled face told nothing. Her short white hair was wet. She took a towel from one of the bags and put it on her head

Storage Woman

November 9, 2012

Storage

 

I am storage. I live in storage. I left my real life somewhere and cannot get it back. The boxes, big, medium and  small, are before me. They stare at me and I stare at them. Some boxes are open, some are closed, ready to go. I have been looking at the boxes—at myself—for months, perhaps years. My eyes close. I shake my head. My eyes open slowly. I look at the boxes, then I look the other way. Makes no difference. The boxes don’t go away.

 

 

The Lights

August 12, 2012

The Lights

I remember the lights, the bright yellow lights burning the top of my head. We were in a room, your parochial office, and there were people all around us. They didn’t know what was going on. All I wanted was to talk to you. All I wanted was to ask you if you had read the letter I had sent you. I loved you more than any man I had known. You brought out the woman in me and I didn’t want to let go without a fight. I knew how rare what I felt for you was and I thought that deserved a chance, maybe more than a chance. Later, days after that evening, I found out that you were in a bad mood, that you were getting mad at people for no apparent reason. Someone asked me if you had ever made any sort of promises to me, promises that now you didn’t want to keep. No, I said. But I know I will ever love like that again.

 

The Woman’s Hat

August 11, 2012

The Hat

A crowded public library: She was wearing a large hat, like the ones in a 50s film. It had been raining hard, but the hat was dry. The woman came towards me. She tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and she handed me a piece of paper. This is bad, I said to myself as I looked at it. It isn’t right. The paper was all legal stuff, something about having to appear in court for eviction. I have been evicted ever since I came back to the U.S. I have been foreclosed on again, just like I was in Atlanta in 2005. I don’t have a home. I don’t have anything.