......I thought he was lying at first
wanting me to feel sorry for him, maybe
giving me a sob story to butter me up to
ask me for money,
cause you know men lie, don't they?
they lie well, like lies are a part of who they are
I smile as he tells me don't be sad
I'm sad inside but I try and listen with a 'solid heart'
my heart is not that solid, its sorta like
carmel cake or freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies
today Pablo doesn't want to talk
He greets me with a nod and walks along with me.
I stop and get my bagel and tea,
he stands outside the coffee shop and waits patiently
then we walk along Main street quietly. (It's 6:38 am)
I look at his feet from time to time
His worn out boots won't get him through the New York winter
I'm waiting for him to ask me for a dollar. I've been
waiting for 3 weeks, but he only wants me to lend him my ear
20 minutes each morning - I listen - he talks
but today, he sighs, loudly.....
sounds like a freight train ripping through his mind
I want to ask what's wrong, but I know better
I've heard the story I know what's wrong.....
(last week in a nutshell)
finally he speaks
I had a dream about momma stabbing Cham
what made me mad was she got blood on my
daddy's white tee shirt that I was wearing.
He told me it was mine, but it always smelled like him
I missed Daddy.
(I wanted to ask questions, but I bite my lip and kept quiet)
ain't no peace when you watch blood leave the earth
specially at 8
couldn't do nothing but cry inside
tears wouldn't come
mama told me it was his fault
(I assumed he meant his father's)
I nod my head for him to continue but it's as though I'm not even there anymore
heavy breathing...
I'm afraid sometimes......afraid that Cham will come take my soul like Mama took hers
She talks to me when I don't have my coffee (5th of Rum that he carry's everywhere)
I was in the room, I should have saved her
(how many of us have tried to drink or snort away guilt)
I just watched, watched, watched
Mama couldn't be killed she was already dead
by the way, you look pretty today, Cham had eyes almost just like yours
you could see through to her soul
(thank you Pablo...)
so what are you gonna do today my friend? I ask
sit right here, and wait for you to come back
(I had a million questions......but I knew to ask would close the porthole. For whatever reason, I need to know this man's story. Yes, he's a homeless person who walks the streets of New York fighting off demons that are not his. He's 72 years old, but he's still 8 years old. He's a part of my day, a part of my life, and I don't know why God has placed this man in my path, but I do know he's not crazy, nor is he inhuman. He is a human being and I will treat him as such.)
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12 comments:
Good all over you, Icy.
You know, I wallow in your words.
Icy, this is really a good piece of writing.
And you're right, he's not 'mad', and he is human.
This is the kind of thing my father used to try to do, help all the 'un-helpable', knowing he couldn't help them.
words, though sad, can be blankets to snuggle in. i slip down deeper in yours.
A few minutes of comprehension can feed his soul more than a few bucks could feed his body.
Isn't crossing paths with people incredible? Especially unexpected people in unexpected places...Pablo has a purpose now--waiting for you to walk by--just a downhome country girl with a heart of gold and the intelligence to know that listening is a gift in itself...
that's probably exactly what he needs-
he's lucky to have met YOU icy x
this is heart-stopping, Icy.
Hope you are doing well -
Hey, Icy, just checking. You okay?
Yes, I'm good, thank you all for your comments
THERE you are! I was getting worried about you - thanks for stopping by. Glad the t-shirt reached you!
Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!
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