All things homeless make me sad

All things homeless make me sad.

Old Veterans on shopping center benches with their mate-
an old girl named Baby, left in a backyard to starve, but surviving anyways on God knows what
and other things that I can’t say,

And he says,
I just couldn’t have that, you know?

I know, I think.
Like how it kills me to leave you here on the bench, and her on the cold concrete under her three blankets.
I ask, do you need anything?
What in the holy hell am I asking that for?
Of course he needs.
But I’m not sure that either of us knows what that could be.
How big is the need?
What could possibly fill it?

I buy him shoes.
I buy the old girl some dog food.
I offer to feed them both on Christmas.
I’m going broke on both of our needs.

All things homeless make me sad.

Define home.
Define more than a location.  A locale.  A bench.  A car.
Defined as a house.
Defined as a space claimed,
or as a space welcoming you into it.
In general, defined as good.  So without home, we are less than home.

Defined by what we lack.  Somehow missing something, or something missing a place.
A place to rest.
A someone to belong to.
A pair.  A match.

A jar
A mate
A container in which we feel belonged to.

Lonely things make me sad.
Stray cats.
Stray dogs.
Stray people.  Alone and in packs.

I don’t actually know if any of them are lonely.
But then again,
I am sure they are.
And like my old Veteran and his old girl,
Loneliness is what they know.  How they live.  How they like it best because somewhere along the way it may have been too crowded-
Or maybe they got lost.
On the street,
or in their head.
or in their heart.
And now lonely is life.
Maybe now lonely is home
And no less lonely than where I am sitting in mine.


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