“The most miserable of the gods and the most divine of the miserable.” H Cixous, Stigmata
There are some faces who never leave me. Alone. I wake at night sometimes and see their spectres, but mostly, I see myself, my county, my world, in their eyes. What have we done? What are we doing? Why didn’t I give him more money? Where did I learn to reach out to desperation with a clinched fist? Who taught me that maybe he doesn’t “deserve” a “handout?” Why didn’t I get his information? I did try. His address was the streets. Where did I learn to bring poverty to poverty?