I don’t want to talk with her. If I talk with, I’m reminded of how bad the situation is. I’m reminded of her delusions. I’m reminded of her struggles, her vulnerability. I’m reminded that I can’t help her because she won’t let me. I don’t want to try to find her, because I’m reminded how… Continue reading I’m tired of this
I meet her now for lunch. We share food and conversation. I can check in on how she’s doing. She can see that nothing bad is happening to me. Her mind is lively. She’s still interested in art, architecture, politics. She showed me a couple political books she’s read lately. She’s in there, interested in… Continue reading Staying in her life
I have a story inside me and I’m afraid it’s so big it could blot out the sun. It rocks in the ocean of my belly and the waves come out in tears. My face knows this place where I have never smiled, still as stone. I have a story that rings from under glass.… Continue reading I have a story
I’ll give you a hint: she’s now 79 and still on the streets.
She pulled out of her bag a print-out of the missing person poster I created when she disappeared this last time. It was printed from the blog I started and had the date I posted it — three years ago. Three years of wondering, worrying, being held in suspense came flooding back. “I’m not missing,” she said… Continue reading The thing that breaks my heart today
I spotted her from the car by her rolling suitcase rather than by the scarf she always wears. The scarf, it turns out, is layered underneath the wool cape she has over her head. I call her name as she breathes in and out, a human covered in formless clothing. There is a blanket in… Continue reading At her sleeping spot