12 Oct with no doubt she sleeps

Poetry, Donté Clark

I saw her lying there
wrapped in layers of sweatshirts ‘nd scarves
tucked in a blue sleepin’ bag on a small hill.
her head was covered with a black beanie
next to a pile of plastic bags ’round her sides.
belly towards the sky, a casket figure on dead grass.
sunset at Miller Knox.

On quiet walks, I bring prayers with me.
singing my heart’s diary into the ears of trees
while beating pavement, fast paced in house slippers.
my lively beat is met by her stillness,
‘nd bay fog that overhang shoreline of Point Richmond.
no doubt she slept here.

gulls gather amid pond.
geese comb their backs ‘nd pluck through green blades to taste their morning meat.
In this park, their home
with no doubt she sleeps.

if only I knew her name.
the seed of fruit from which tree she came?
what cares she seeks?
what blues she speaks?
what roads she’s traveled been soft to her feet?

what life she could be
if we all showed care

to the ones in need of us knowing they’re there.