Only Eden

I have walked on streets

Plastered with rubble and

Pavement encrusted

With a thousand

Hurried footprints

Searching for shelter

At dusk.

I come to the town

By car

And park across the

crumbling street

At the old Walkers Store.

I am stared at by

A group

Of Guatemalans,

Broken down

Into pieces

That we can't put

Together.

The pieces lay

Scattered on the

Concrete as

I approach the

Trailer park

Slowly.

Number 75 with

The rusted windows.

Number 239 with

The broken heater.

There was no refrigerator

In number 622

And the children slept

On the sofa.

and play in empty rooms

And the parents' cheeks

Are blushed

As I explain in

Broken Spanish

Why the social worker

Is here.

Number 72

Had a roof

That leaked

And a floor

That lay uncarpeted.

I am just another empty dresser

In the room.

The children smile

And I watch them draw

Pictures of rabbits

On the back of

a food stamp form

And slide inside

their only eden;

giggle as they dance in

the dark.

Layers of dirt

Pad my boots

And stale air

Invades my lungs

And I stand there,

expressionless.

I can not apologize

For the cold

Or the rain

Or the solitude

That sits

On the mothers shoulders

Between the rusty walls.