However beautiful
the sound of a cry of woe may be, one cannot wish to hear it again;
it is more human to wish to cure the woe.
At the cemetery I saw a woman
pour tea in a paper cup; her mother placed it
on a grave. All I saw was the
matted gray hair of a
woman sleeping beside
the Kāne'ohe Post Office, her things arranged neatly beside an open
blue umbrella. The President of Need would take that from her. No
blue umbrellas! Cloth is so weak! “I'm fine for a while and then a
feeling of existential dread comes over me again.” The tall
handsome man with AIDS could not sleep, because he might die if
he did. So she came and
watched television with him. One night he asked her to lie down, and
she did. Your
best weapon now will be a toothbrush and shampoo, and your own frail
body.
--24
December 2016
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