Crossing the Abyss

Crossing the Abyss


It was dusk as she crossed the abyss, an intersection in West
Hollywood. Everything was coming down. A homeless man set up in
a patch of grass just off the boulevard. He was sleeping when
she walked by earlier, his hat pulled over his face and she was
astounded he could find a bit of peace in the racket.

Now he was sitting up adjusting his hat over his grizzled face.
She tried to avert her eyes but had made a choice not to avert
her eyes at anything, not her faults, not at anything she didn’t
want to see for any reason, not at one more homeless person.

You had to be smart about these things, as some things or beings
could engage and pull you in for the wrong reason; they could
hurt you. You had to be careful. He looked up just as she made
the decision to say hello to this man everyone had been avoiding.

He smiled. He probably wasn’t more than 25, from Arkansas
or Oregon. She smiled, then decided to give him the paper bag
with her warm dinner from KooKooRoo’s. That part wasn't planned.
He smiled even more as he sat next to his altar of lozenge cans,
folded clothes and shoes. He carefully took the paper bag.

She turned off the main artery onto a side street blooming
with flowers and trash cans. She understood that as he ate
dinner, so she would be fed too.

Joy Harjo February 2005