What Will Never Be Known

She shuffles flat footed on her clunky feet, trousers dragging at the back
a leash in one hand attached to one round white poodle. Tail wagging
following every step she takes, every step an adventure. One hand pushes
the shopping cart which contains one big floppy bag which contains
what people in cars passing by will never know. She moves it
a few feet forward. Shuffles back, and one hand picks up a large suitcase
lugs it forward. Shuffles back and the tail still wags and follows, still
an adventure. Two hands struggle with an over sized suitcase, with filthy clothes
piled on top like a colorful hat to crown the head of a boxy woman
in black at church. Shuffles back, and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth
until all of her worldly belongings are under the concrete awning. The rain
comes down as erratically as the spit from a 5 year old on a ball field. Diana,
the grey haired lady introduces Miss Daisy, whose eyes are bright
and whose tongue is red and waving at me. The tight curls on her back are sparse
and her skin is pink but her little feet find my shins in greeting. Devotion comes
in all sizes. Diana said the Motel 6 man discriminates against women with signs
at the side of the road. Said the woman tried to kill her. She told the motel man,
“Call District 2 police.” Diana called District 2 police. Said the cop told her,
“Keep your sign, Diana. You just keep your sign.” Twenty bucks
might get her a cab to where some other motel man might let her in.
Another twenty and she starts to cry. Wipes her face and her eyes
on the front of her shirt. Waves to me. Miss Daisy follows her every step,
into a wilderness where bobcats prowl and wildflowers grow, into the place
where loan sharks swim with their razor sharp fins in the midst of this concrete jungle,
on the fringe of this cow town city.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019


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