Homeless For One Night

by Trish Szymanski
Late night, Saturday, February 21, 2009



"U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A."
She comments to me on the steps at Journal Square tonight.

I watch as history poignantly repeats.
Jean comforts her, hugs and loves her.

"This is inhuman!" she whispers to me,
Not wanting to insult her host at the fountain.
Jean's bags line up neatly as she huddles nearby
And waits for her husband to join her.

U.S.A.
U.S.A.
U.S.A.
She says, "How can we just sit by with people in such plight?"

I watch as her consciousness once again is raised.
And she has known, better than most.

"What can I do now?" she thinks to herself.
Now walking ahead though she sees no path there.
Her fire is ignited. She struggles. She cries.
Looks up, so the answer will find her.

U.S.A.
U.S.A.
U.S.A.
"Don't cry," Jean says, "It's going to be okay."



for Adela, and Jean