The Street

A woman stands beside her belongings upon the street she belongs to. Looking into the storefront window’s glass, she combs through her thick black curly hair deciding that she doesn’t need public restrooms. She doesn’t need anyone. Her umbrella is open and on its back. Her clothes are curled up into fetal positions and sleeping in the plastic bags by her feet.

Across the street, my heart lays face first on the cool early morning cement as I reach for my car keys and walk away.