Sarah at 28

I nose my car into

an angled parking space 

at Wal Mart.   A furnace 

blasts my face as I

step into the sun.

A voice   traveling on

the wind   rings familiar.

   “Sir could you spare some money?”

My head jerks.   Sarah.

At the “Enter” door

   hand held out   eyes down

   panhandling    begging

money from strangers.

A tank top   olive drab

hugs her slender body

   tattered baggy pants

puddle over rubber flip-flops.

Sweat glistens on her brow.

She looks up   a startled

glance that radiates shame

reveals black-rimmed eyes

   silent screams at their core

   her pasty face pocked with 

scabs of psoriasis

   arms tattooed with figures

I cannot make out.

I half expect her to

move in my direction.

Instead   she returns

her gaze to the pavement

   shuffles her feet.

I manage a whispered hello

   move through the sliding door

swallowing bile.   I rush

to the toilet   vomit

   wretch   heave   wash my face

   rinse my mouth, blow my nose.

I sit on the wooden bench

outside the restroom

   fend off more nausea 

   wonder how this child

grew into an addict

   a street person in rags

   blackened blonde hair a

thin disguise.  Our granddaughter.

Juicy Fruit my only 

purchase   I drag myself 

to the door   find her gone 

   stumble to my car   

   tear open the gum   stuff two 

pieces in my mouth   chew 

   chase the foul taste 

   sit   wait   as tears dry 

   wonder how I came here  
how I’ll find my way home. 

©  2011 cj Schlottman