"It's still the priciple",
he said as he cleaned the pouring rain off of our windows.
I couldn't help but cry as I sat there with my dry socks and full belly.
I still couldn't look up.
The sound of the squeegee moving slowly across every window seemed to hum
one of the saddest songs I have ever heard.
I keep seeing the way his eyes looked up hopeful as our headlights lit the black beneath his soaking feet,
squeegee in hand, ready to show willingness and to not completely surrender to being a beggar.
Still trying to take some sort of pride in even his most desperate moment.
His eyes looked so humble and his voice sounded so normal,
no shake, no chaos.
Just sadness.
These are the ones that you want to look back at when you leave,
the ones that don't seem like they should be there,
in the cold, in the gravity of their own reality.
We just keep moving,
and they continue to stand still,
waiting for the next opportunity to barely get by.
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