I have seen you this past week. I am sure you have been there for longer than that but usually I am in such a hurry I just make the platform as the train pulls in.
But this week I have been arriving early, its less cold now winter is heading north.
I see you at the far end of the station, surrounded by your possessions. I hear people remark about the crazed dirty woman at the end of the platform. You cover yourself in multiple layers less you disintegrate against the cold, around yourself you arrange the shrapnel of your life in worn and rotting bags containing I am sure the stories of your life.
I watch you concentrating as you scour through one bag after another either searching for some elusive memory or checking to make sure what is yours is still yours.
Satisfied you settle back and stare at the world that must pass you by with indifference. This morning I was early and so ventured a little closer to you. I could hear you singing, some tune from more hedonistic if not sybaritic days I am sure.
The Station Master came along carrying two coffees and then stopped and handed one to you which you took I noticed with delicate hands and nod of thanks for his kindness.
It’s pleasing that someone looks out for you. That you are not as despised nor hated, as I often fear you must be. Two commuters were chatting near me and I heard one say you were a University professor once but that you feel out of favour, with everyone it would seem. This one commuter remembered you, said you were always odd, your ideas challenged the best of your students it was your legacy to question but he was sad to see that you had stepped over the precipice and been reduced to this broken and crushed woman.
It was Thursday morning when I saw the police come by, they were very gentle with you, I heard that there had been a complaint about you lurking about on the train stations. I know that some of the stations are now days uninhabitable, not like in the old days when each one had a sheltered waiting room and accessible toilets. Now there are only a few that are open twenty-four seven and they don’t like smelly old crazed women taking up residence in their public areas.
What I saw though reaffirmed my desire to know you better.
It was clear to me that you had been through this process before, as you knew what their presence meant.
As they left the ritual of movement began. I was mesmerised by the deliberation and care that occurred. Every bag you own had a place on your person. Some on your back, some slung across shoulders to the left and right, some hung in front, I figured those bags contained the most precious possessions.
I wondered where it was you were going. You doused any speculation of resistance by looking resigned to moving as if this was all part of the process of life, the enforced nomadic existence that moved you from one Gehenna to another. I could see in you a determination, a path you knew so well.
With head bent low under the yoke of all you owned, you stepped over the discarded syringes from the night before and disappeared into the morning as we all stood to attention, a silent guard of honour to your human float, as you rolled on by and we recoiled momentarily then gathered ourselves in expectation of the comfort we knew was ours in the humdrum of our upcoming day.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/08/11/wordle-21/
Morpethroad 
I love the topic you chose for the Wordle it was the perfect choice Michael very moving portrait. We forget how easily the roles could be reversed when just passing over people as we do. I am glad to see the better side of humanity on display as well
“With head bent low under the yoke of all you owned” Favorite line wow so much said here
Thank you Yves, the wordle was perfect for a story phylor inspired in me the other day, hence the title…
I read that one as well Michael XD I am so glad you found it so, loved your entry!
Thank you.
Very senstive fine write here – I like how you try to reach into your soul and understand “the other side” … beautifully done.
Thank you Georgia yours is a very generous comment.
Yours was a very generous post …
You grap me and drew me into the station so easily. Nicely done.
Thank you Kim. I appreciate your comment.
A sad reality captured so well.
The stories that are within the people we see throughout our day – especially those that seem to be invisible to most.
Good point RoSy there are so many people in our world who are invisible through their invisibility.
When I left my ex-partner four years ago and lived on a campsite for about three months I realised how easy it can happen to become homeless. If I would not have had friends and my now husband I am sure I would be like her now.
Thanks for capturing this lady so gently.
Thanks Bee, there but for the grace of God go I.
Wonderful Michael. I have a special place in my heart for the homeless. They all have a story–I’ve been privileged to hear a few. You did a great job on this one.
Thanks Mandy happy you could connect. Have a great day.
What a great post, Michael, and of issues to related to life today. A good reminder and you paint the picture so vividly. Lovely write as usual 🙂
Thank you Cheryl-Lyn and thanks for the reblog…..happy you enjoyed my piece.
I did and it is such a profound message…so beautifully written. I do enjoy your writing. So many times, I have no clue where you are going so it pushes me to read on.
Really I do that to you…..that is amazing, so I had better keep writing such things then….thank you again, I did enjoy the process of writing that one.
You are a great writer, Michael…very captivating, keeping the reader in suspense.
Reblogged this on Stop the Stigma and commented:
How easily we judge and to quickly to overlook…an excellent read.
It is a very emotional and beautifully written story. Actually a few tears right now. Thank you, Michael, for understanding.
I am pleased you found it as you did. It was a challenging piece to write as the vision I had was one based on several characters I have seen over the years. There is an image from the film Labrynth, the David Bowie one, of the woman in the garbage dump laden with her possessions, this small figure under this huge load. For me it is a very provocative image and I have used a few times over the years to create performance pieces for my students. There is something in the innocence of their characters that I find attractive to speculate about. Thanks again for the comment.