neighbors

Our neighborhood squatters’ area was razed by fire. Call me politically incorrect. 

 I live in a compound with rows of apartments. There is an empty lot and a high wall that separates us from them. It could have been an ocean in between. But tonight it was just a matter of a candle and a whiff of the wind; and we’d be sharing so much more than lovers do in a lifetime, loss.   

But the high walls and the wind, and volunteer firefighters saved us. Except for raw nerves and aching muscles from hurried packing (those nearest the wall began evacuating) we escaped unscathed.  

But not the one-room palaces, not the shoeboxes. None of their homes escaped the fire.  

It is almost midnight now. Those who came home exhausted from the day’s toil perhaps looked forward to that little corner of a bed. Never to this fire.  

The streets are full of people. Each carrying valued possessions, electric fans, a plastic cabinet, bundled clothes, pushcarts, pets. There are those who, totally caught by surprise, have nothing but the clothes on their backs. Word has spread that tonight they can sleep at the “evacuate” center. But some will have to contend with the sidewalk by the grocery (it has a roof). A family has laid claim on the bank’s parking lot (also has a roof). The men look tired. Very very tired. The women are busy fretting. Later it will all sink in.   

I forget that they are there sometimes. Often. A high wall hides them from view.  

There is an ocean that separates us.     

A high wall hides them form view.  

Later it will all sink in.  

 

~ by amats on December 13, 2007.