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The Park

So we go about our days from early mornings when we climb out of bed, shower up, and rush out into that early morning to go to work, and here we are as we either drive to work or take the bus or the train, that we tend to overlook those around us. We see that individual, all disheveled and ragged, her town clothes and perhaps a dingy, dirty white wool cap on her head. The coat is musty, smelly, and on her feet are some shoes that seem to have holes in them. Yet, this here black woman, though she appears to look as though she is in her seventies, is really about forty, as she pushes her silver shopping cart filled with all types of bags through the busy streets, pass the people who either look her way or ignore her. All she wants is to get to the park before it too becomes filled with people who come to sit and talk. Yes, she is homeless. How long, no one knows. My guess is that she does not even know, for it has been a while. She may have been a beautiful person, but now the cracks begin to show in her face, and her eyes are red.

In that same park, an old lady, seemingly all alone, her silver grey hair is glistened by some of the rays of the sun on that early morning. Across the park, she stays at the large beige brick apartment building with the large sign in front of the building that states: Evergreen Senior Home. She lives there, but she does not seem a bit happy there. Yes, she is provided well, and she does live a lot better than the homeless woman who often sleep on grates, or in the rear of buildings, or sometimes in shelters. Yet, her own life she feels is almost the same. She is slender, wears a somewhat old style, perhaps a dress of the forties, and on her hands are some white gloves to hide some of the liver marks on hands. Her face is a little pale, the only lively color on her is the red lipstick on her lips and a little of the red rouge that seem to have caked on her face. She is not a bad looking woman, yet much wrinkles and much cracks show on her, revealing that she may be a little past sixty.
Like the homeless woman, she is ignored by the on rushing people too busy to stop and talk to her, to stop and say hello, or ask her is there anything that they could do for her. Everyone is about doing their own thing.
So the two women meet once or twice in the park, a park that sits somewhere within the center of the downtown part of the city, a park visited by people, a park visited by two: a Black woman and a White woman, two worlds, but of the same blood.

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The Park
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18 Dec 2002 :: 14 Nov 2008
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