Someday" Someday you'll be without a room."
Her voice came through my open window
at the Latham Hotel
4 East 28th Street, NYC
Below, she wandered the sidewalk
repeated her refrain
foreign
this underbelly
this face of failure
this outcast
and yet not foreign
Today, my own stubborn nature
shakes me from my tenuous shelter
sets me wandering the woods, streets,
desert
one bowl, one robe, reluctant
mendicant
12 comments:
I have to look up the word Mendicant. Otherwise, this bag lady story has been a life long fear of mine...you wrote of it well. Love the twists to this story. See/hear you wandering.
Wonder where you will come out?
I love this.
To have your news headline first really changes the whole tone. Stubborn will at the bottom of it all.
(Still hoping you ind less tenuous shelter too)
You are embracing your current state, getting to know it well. ;o)
Powerful poem, Suki...I adore the word "underbelly", by the way...
Very powerful!
"one robe, one bowl, reluctant mendicant"
So descriptive.
This is a sad story that unfolds in many ways. Great capture of a mood.
so sad, so very sad.
Suki ~ I love how you poetically express hearing the reflection of your own fears in the voice of the bag lady... Life is funny that way - speaking to us through so many voices, reflecting back to us what we need to hear and see. Am glad you are giving voice to that which speaks in your heart!
A Bette Davis quote was something like "Growing old is not for sissies" and I couldn't agree more. It all takes heart and courage.
Your poem is beautiful...My favorite word is also 'underbelly'.
I continue to be awed by your talent. This poem is so strong....so full of pathos...so real.
I wonder what happened to that woman....
You, m'dear are now going to walk that path though.... you are NOT ALONE....you have people who love you and care about you and Bibs.
I will continue to *pester* you about finding a publisher for these poems.... they deserve to be read by the world.
Love to you and Bibitty!!
♥ Robin ♥
Stripping the comforts of life away to one bowl, one robe and a tenuous shelter. What price freedom? Is it misfortune, madness, addiction or fate that sends one wandering in the desert? I have looked at "bag ladies" since my teens and thought to myself, "There but for the grace of god go I." And even yet, even today, I am still not secure in my tenuous illusions of security. Your poem, again, has stirred up many emotions, ideas, and images for me. I love the specificity of address at the beginning, although, as it's a hotel, it is still a tenuous shelter. "An outcast, and yet not foreign": Definitely looking at a mirrored image of one's secret nature.
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