bread and roses

I saw him through the big sliding doors even before I stepped inside. I don't know if the other shoppers could see it, his very full backpack or the fact that it's not quite as warm as his layers of clothes might suggest. I see him head down an aisle and I turn down another. We cross paths in the bakery section and I take a longer look while pretending to eyeball the bagels. I see the dirt under his nails, the fraying at the hem of his jeans. He's perusing the loaves of wheat bread and has a container of soy milk in his hand. It strikes me then and however unfairly that I wouldn't assume healthy eating habits would be a priority and yet why not, why the hell not.

Up close his backpack is pretty dirty and I see a familiar card poking out of the side, I confirm what I know, he's spent some time at our place and yet his face is unfamiliar. He looks at me and I smile. Hey, we both exchange and the briefest of smiles flit across his face before he looks away. He reaches for a loaf and walks away, milk in one hand and bread in the other. I stand and watch him go because in these moments I want to engage a bit deeper, for however little it matters I want to let him know he is not invisible to me, that my heart goes out to the unfairness of not having a home and having to carry his world on his back. And yet words sometimes or often fail me, and I'm left alone with the bread and the bagels and the softness of Hey.

neighborly relations

It's early morning at the far side of the park and I see the signs that homelessness is somewhere close. The toiletry bottles stashed under a table, the multiple hotel sized ones, we give those out nightly and that blanket looks familiar too. M and I are on our way to meet some friends.

What's that stuff, she asks and I tell her it's someone's close by. Where, she asks. I don't know, I reply, but as I answer he rounds the corner. Behind the dugout and under the bleachers, I see them sleeping there sometimes but usually not in February.

He sees us nearby, not a threat to his stuff but perhaps closer than necessary. He walks over and has what M would most definitely call a mean face. She wraps her arms around my legs and hides behind them. Out of my element I am sometimes thrown, and on a still not sunny morning in the park with my kid I am thrown a little more.

I think I recognize him, but years of huddled bearded burly haggard tired dirty men can sometimes blur. It's not something I'm proud of because it seems like each face should be carved into my memory. I grab her hand thinking we'll keep going, this happenstance run in doesn't have to be a thing. I've seen her before, he says, pointing at M. Ah, then. Introductions are being made. Here or over at the shelter? I ask because I don't know. Over there. She never sits still does she. More of a statement than a question and to be honest I agree.

That'd be us, I reply. Were you over there last night? Yep, and I slept for shit so left early to try and sleep out here. And then he glances down at her again. Sorry.

If that's the worst thing she hears today then I'll be doing pretty good, I reply and he smiles a half smile, we are still a bit close to his stuff and I see him looking at it and her and probably wondering if she's going to not sit still all over it so I keep holding her hand. I have an extra muffin if she wants it he says. It will never cease to amaze me how many homeless men and women who have almost nothing offer to share what little they do. M is always offered things at work, trinkets and food and sweets and it always touches me. She just ate, but thank you.

Alright then, maybe I'll see you around. And he turns his back and we say goodbye and walk on through the green grass and the grey clouds and the just waking up sounds towards our friends at the other side of the park, the side brimming with kids and snacks and laughter and sand.

we'll see

There were four of them spaced somewhat evenly around the grocery store entrance this morning as I went in to buy a few things for a party I am already fairly sure we will not end up attending. Guys, I say. Hey. You staying at the _________. (It's winter, it's cold, and they are in the same city as the temporary winter program and I know they know about it because at least one of them looks familiar). Speaken Dutch? or something similar, one guy replies. Are you messing with me, dude? Cause if you are I'll keep walking. Wait a minute he says, english perfect and if I'm not mistaken a bit of a southern twang, so I smile and say It's going to be cold tonight, really cold. I work with the people over there and like it or not, you can all stay there if you want to. Think about it and I'll stop by on my way out. One of them tells me they need $150 for a place but it's in a city I am not sure how to help with, so I need a few minutes to think.

M spent the night puking, sometimes all over me. I'm exhausted and sort of annoyed, my too small house has extra family in it right now, everyone wants to help, bless them, but I just want to be left alone. Ho, Ho, Ho, to me. So I finish my shopping and grab some deli sandwiches for the guys (and one woman) outside.

I've racked my brain, I can't help with the $150. If it was in another city, I'd know of a place who could help. It's alright, thank you for at least thinking about it, the guy sitting with the fake Dutch guy replied. I'm still not too keen on the fake Dutch guy but I also know it doesn't really matter in the end. The woman tells me they've stayed at the program and they can stay there again, it's a bit of a walk but they'll probably end up doing just that. They ask if they can have a bed for certain and I tell them yes because I know it's true. When it's this cold we'll pack them in if we have to. I hand them the sandwiches because even if some of them are hustling there's no free meals till dinner on a Saturday. Now we are all friends, me and these guys who've moved a bit closer while everyone entering the store gives us wide berth. I wonder what those folks think, me and a group of guys shooting the shit, the Please Help, I'm homeless and hungry sign at our feet.

I don't have much more to say, I'm still tired and still annoyed. I tell them again how cold it's going to be and that I hope they take care and take me up on my offer. I mention I have a sick kid and two of them wish her well. How old is she, the woman asks and I tell her. It's hard on the little ones she says. I hope you have a Merry Christmas. I am always touched by moments like this, blessings from the poor that are hard to accept and still feel okay about walking away.

it's the old guys that really get to me

he stood,
stooped and slightly tilting
hair mussed, greying and thin;
digging through a bag of someone's discarded clothing,
furtive, proud,
his pants a bit too short, socks mismatched,
yet he smiles, suddenly to himself,
as he spies a hidden treasure
a muffler someone threw away,
gold and blue, and oh, wait,
a hat, a blue hat.
it fits.

he stands up straight, shoulders back
notices my gaze and says
hello darlin', would ya look at this?
pointing to his find.

nice, i say, and how are you this morning,
can't complain, he says
besides, no one would listen, anyways.

sleeping bag under one arm,
he tosses me a wry smile
and walks off to greet the sidewalk.

be kind to him today;
i say to no one and everyone
in particular.