a friend came with me and we went for a walk in our neighbourhood tonight.
walked past you and and said hello.
twice, with eyes wide open and hearts praying heavy.
we see you, sister. we care for you. trite? maybe. but true.
i wonder about the people who live right there, an armspan away from the trampled-snow sidewalk. do they close their eyes? look away as they walk past you into their warm homes? do they write to their city councilperson and complain about 'nuisance prostitution'? (yes - an actual phrase from an article i read, here in the city. augh.)
i wonder why they haven't stepped out to say hello. to introduce themselves. to invite you to dinner.
or maybe they have. but you're still out in the cold. walking your street.
you aren't in front of my house, but you're just around the corner. and i see you with your skinny jeans and cigarettes night after cold night.
so i'm walking your street - my street - our street too.
because love doesn't just see and go inside to sit in comfort and close the heart's door.
love puts on its boots and goes walking.