Iscariot                
for Charlotte

Rolling solo through the valley
I am reminded of news I
heard concerning you. I had been
in the city for Thanksgiving,

visiting the program where we�d
met when I worked there and you were
a resident. You were not my
favorite�you didn�t respond

much to my attempts to make a
connection with you�but I liked
you and always felt that there was
an aura of sadness around

you. I noticed the defeated
look on your face and the way you
approached almost everything with
the attitude that it is all

pointless. You told me of the lone
family member you had�a
younger brother, who was in a
different program, and you once

brought back a drawing that he did
for you when you visited him.
That was one of the few days that
I saw you smile. And then one day

after lunch you used me to help
you and another girl run off
from the house. I felt guilty; that
I should have been more aware of

such things. More than that, however,
I was disconsolate that I
did not have the chance to say a
goodbye of some sort and to let

you know that I care. Of course, those
words would have been more for me than
you, offering little hope to
counter your almost unbearable

hopelessness. I never saw you
again or heard anything of
what had happened to you, until
I was told that you had it�the

virus. How much sorrow can be
packed into one person�s life? I
wondered. I felt horrible, then,
about celebrating a day

of thanks. These thoughts returned to me
as I drove on a quiet road
past fields that were empty but had
blankets of soft white fog wafting

above, as if about to drift
down and embrace the ground below.
Meanwhile, you are out there on the
cold and uncaring streets of the

city, or perhaps you are in
another program, passing days
and months being unhappy �til
you grow ill, and the physical

pain overwhelms all the other
forms of hurt you have been dealt in
your fifteen years. I wish that I
could see you once more, but again

it would only be to ease my
conscience. Every molecule of
compassion I can muster is
useless when the earth has conspired

against you.
Poems

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(December 2002)
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