In Response to Don't ask me:
Crowds-
Breathing fog into icy air
Scurrying through the dark evening,
On their way to,
Theatres, Shows, an evening out with
Friends.
furs, food kiosks,smell of chips/ burgers/onions...
there you are sat against the railings, on cardboard
how, how did you come to be there?
What is your story?
Day 17: 17th April,17th poem
Coming home from Canterbury last night I saw a young girl in a doorway. Her clothes worn, her hair disheveled she was smoking and had a small piece of cloth beside her on which were a few coins. I wanted to crouch down beside her and talk to her but was afraid to. I thought I might take her to have a coffee and find out her story,but I walked on . However, I couldn't get her out of my mind. So this poem came in just a few minutes this morning:
Don't Ask Me
Don't ask me why I sit
In this doorway,
Cold from this floor
Seeping into young bones
Aged by misuse.
Looking, but not looking
At you,
Just catching your eye
Long enough,
Hoping you'll throw a coin
Onto my need.
Don't ask me why I sit
Hungry
But wanting only my stuff,
Dirty and ragged,
Don't judge me
Don't judge me.
Welcome to my blog. Grams is the name my first grandson gave me and it's stuck. My great loves: My husband, our nine children, twenty five grandchildren, four great grandchildren, my Faith, writing- prose and poetry - and travelling , especially in our camper. My posts are eclectic and I appreciate getting comments. So, please feel free to comment or offer advice on what you would like to to see more of.
Thank you bhat, glad you like it.
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