The Woman at Mercy Shelter

The Woman at Mercy Shelter

In the morning

she is like a rooster

talking to the sun,

to patches of light

on a wood floor.

She accounts for yesterday's 

passing, telling of her trip

to buy vegetables.

“Two cantaloupes so soft when I press

their skin. My thumbs get wet.”

“Asparagus on hidelike stems

stood like wood soldiers

in a bucket of water. I tiptoes past.”

She talks to cats and dogs,

to people on trains

who bury their eyes.

She talks to shadows

on sidewalks.

At night she holds

a hand mirror,

and talks to her face

bloated with words.

and Tomorrow, she says

I'm going home