30th
March 2012
Dear Cassi,
There are never enough beds for those with
no home. When the beds fill the sad souls spill into the night. They ask for
blankets but there are never enough blankets. It seems as if they fight over
blankets like jackals over meat. The worn lengths of cloth have rotten and
turned to stink. The maggot and fleas crawl in them but no matter how they may
make us ill the street folk will still use them.
It is as the fighting buzzards and dogs who
will take that last morsel of rancid carrion no matter how rank from those
without the strength to defend. Blankets are given out to those who ask, but
those blankets turn to dust in the rain. It is as if we wanted them to need us so
we give them blankets that never last the winter when the rains come.
Each one of these soul had a mother and
father. Each soul came from some place. The cries of their memories haunt the
night like daemons. They come to me for help but there are so many I cannot
help, so many that fall to the side. Folks wonder why I work so hard and
perform my duties with such diligence.
How could anything that rightly calls
itself human look at those sad faces and not work hard to bring them home? How
could I look at myself in the mirror if I did not give it my all? Would I still
be the Richard you know if I failed to put shoulder to and redden my face with
effort at this problem?
Stay safe, little sister
Richard Leland Neal
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