I need to tell you about the old man sitting cross-legged on the crackedconcrete outside the Life building lifting drowningants out of a puddle with a broken bit of a fallen oak branch.I am standing in the rain watching him save an ant’s lifewhile I’ve been crushing it under my feetthis whole week. I’ve never been more careful walking home.
On my way back from the grocery store,I am stiff shoulders and clenched teeth from the weightof bags of orange juice and chocolate croissantsand the tight whip of winter wind cutting into my eyes.I savor rushes of warm apple pie air escapingfrom the open Doughgirls door and then I see
a man hunched between the gap between the bakeryand the chocolatier using a towel as a blanket.My feet carry me past him before I know to stop butsomething is crawling out of my throat and I’m –coughing, fists clenched, tears dripping downmy nose into my open mouth and they tastelike the queen-sized bed that I only sleep on half of.
They taste like the hazy smell of half rotten applesthe grey-haired lady picks out of the Blenz Coffee garbage can,like nickels and dimes ringing in tin cans catchingthe moonlight on the rare days that it does not rain.The fluorescent stars meet my eyes when I turnmy head to the sky, hands together in prayerfor all the people I do not knowhow to save.
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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash