Writ during a brief sojourn for the now chronically homeless poet, “up” into the (unregulated) world of low-budget room rental.

The Humboldt household here being described, for instance, containing only the poet herself, a heroin addict (head of household), and a speed freak/dealer who lined vehicles up in the parking lot under the poet’s window each midnight to do her business, lasted all of three months before ~ her own, as always, full and timely payment of rent notwithstanding ~ it received a three day yellow slip for nonpayment.

There might be another evening like the one described below in the poet’s future. Right now, if she weren’t too exhausted, pain-ridden, cold, cramped and depressed even to consider it, she’d probably doubt it very much.

*****

Recorded Reading (1:59): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/48b7yxs8i5brmih6a4qxk/Evening-of-Dreams.mp3?rlkey=5qxgg1818fimpetgtbplof564&dl=0

*****

Evening of Dreams

Tonight she had an evening
She’s dreamt of for a year
It seemed to contain everything
She hasn’t gotten near

In way too long for comfort
Way too long for happiness
This evening did so many kinds of
Pleasure come this poet bless

She left a regulation home
And by an ordinary door
Though she had had to bend o’er double
To unzip her tent before

And yes, her outfit was tonight
Comfortable, bold
And artsy those layers without
Protection from forever cold

She walked a perfect lovely mile
Through ferns and birds and trees
No moment felt of chronic fear —
Everything to please

And do you know upon that walk
Where this poet went?
Too wonderful to even say:
A cultural event!

An “Artwalk” full of civilized
Gently smiling folk
Gazing at original
Creations all bespoke

She sang along occasionally
When the sweet musicians there
Curled their busy fingers
Round some well accustomed aire

Accepting not bewilderment
Denigration, fear
But compliments her outfit on
By people passing near

And though when it was over,
The music and the fun,
The hour had come, as often will,
When busses cease to run

This caused the poet no dismay
No vigil, chill, nor pain
She took her walking stick in hand
And ambled home again!

How blessed she feels, how priveledged
To have come back far margins from
And once again an ordinary
Citizen become

*****

Homeless until removal of the stalker/targeter/vandal/arsonist following her allows her to approach any landlord ~ even for a private parking space ~ this poet presently lives under perpetual threat of towing with all possessions should her 23-year-old van stop running for any reason.

She is badly in need of a modest reserve with which to field any emergency which might occur.

Donors may visit http://www.UgiftABLE.com , using code #72D-31S. It does take several days for the poet to be notified of your patronage.

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