lois

the other day, i left the shelter, walked down the street and saw an older women getting out of her car. her name is Lois. she lives down the road. some mornings at about 7:30 i pass her sitting on the front porch in a rockety, torn, faded, dark peach,fabric swivel chair throwing bread crumbs to the swarming pigeons. they know its coming. as i approach, they scatter onto neighboring rooftops, into the sky, landing on telephone poles. i apologize and she says they will certainly return, not to worry.

a scrunched up face filled with wrinkles and i sense wisdom of old age behind her tough exterior. her voice crackles and quavers a bit while she speaks, but stays strong. this particular day, i pause in front of her car as she emerges and warn her of a passing by speeding car. she absentmindedly shuts the drivers door and slowly comes around to where i'm standing. long day. she tells me about her home dialysis machine...she plugs in 10 hours each night to drain liquid. she would much rather do it in her own home then have to go to the clinic daily.

i've lived in this house for 13 years and have always been in new orleans. this is my home...i only leave for vacation, i know i'm coming back. katrina sent me away. my niece took me in and set up the whole room for me, with the machine and everything. i owe her. hmmm, september, october, november....i think i was there in gonzales for about three months. then i came back home. they finally gutted my house...i can't afford to fully fix it up. they helped me find a job through the aarp. i'm glad to be busy. keep moving. not sittin at home all day doing nothing.

ohhh, you're not from here? just came.. three months,, ahhh. no family even? what do you do over there? counseling? ohhh.... i wonder where that woman went, she used to come and sit with me on the porch, and talk in fellowship. i haven't heard from her....got that money and moved with her husband, i think. well, i hope she's doing well for herself. oh, yea, catch your bus. god bless you.