Survival of the Fittest


It is very cold today
cold enough that I am wearing
a coat, two sweaters
and knee-high stockings
under my jeans
yet it is not so cold
as that night in providence
when we waited for the bus
huddled near what we hoped
was the lee side
of a wooden message board
(announcing events, parties,
twenty chances for easy money)

Seven minutes we waited
by your watch
bundled as in the best
middle-class money could buy
still we could not feel the flesh
on our legs or arms
our noses seemed strange
foreign objects when we
prodded them with gloved fingers.
our thick scarves could not stop
the wind’s chill fingers
from seeking our throats
and all that sustained us
was the knowledge that the bus
would soon appear, and welcome
into her warm shelter all those
who could spare one dollar
and twenty-five cents.

I had to wonder then
what it must be
to be truly ‘out in the cold’
for this weather not to be
merely the unpleasant interlude
between home and shopping
but reality itself…
If it only took seven minutes
of a bitter January night
to break us all
to make us willing to trade
our wallets, purchases
and bodies just to be warm again
then I do not know
what a lifetime of this would do.

I wondered what thought
such a person could focus on
to help him ignore the fact
that he cannot feel
his extremities
that every movement is an agony
that brings the razor-edged wind
against his unguarded body
that he will sleep covered
in trash and newspapers
behind a restaurant tonight
and who knows if he will
wake up tomorrow
and who will care?

Perhaps it is the thought of spring
when the worst dangers
are over-curious strays
and cars spraying the sidewalk
with dirty water
when it costs nothing
to sit in the park
and inhale the fragrances of life
for hours and hours and hours
when it is the greatest freedom
to bathe in a rainfall
and stare at the people
hurrying to protect
their beautiful clothing
to be able to think
that at just this time of year
it is almost not a bad thing
to have no home.