Emily of The Cold City Streets

A poem I wrote for a young panhandler I met while I was drunk in downtown Vancouver.

 Emily of the Cold City Streets

 

I see you Emily, from time to time.

Panhandling the cold city streets of Vancouver

during days of light or rain.

The downtown eastside at night is poison,

with an antidote unbeknownst to me.

 

Have a good night! And a happy Thanksgiving!

 

She proclaims with simulated certainty,

to the preoccupied people passing,

too fucked to look her in the eye.

 

I slip a smoke in my mouth, hand her one as well.

Ignite the tip with an old fashioned bronze lighter

Engraved with an angel, its wings spread out wide.

I light hers up too.

 

Breathing in the hot smoke grounds me like a tree.

I ash my cigarette and a little falls upon my lap,

we are rooted in these unsightly city streets.

I use to give her money. Was that wrong?

I could soon be there with her, cap in hand.

 

Anything I gave her, anything she got

went straight into her veins.

I saw her shoot up once.

The venom locked in a pen sized coffin,

a slender stinger.

 

Her card board sign reads, Too proud to prostitute, too honest to steal

and I believe her.

Helpless, heart lost homeless, broke,

but never alone. Never hopeless.

Young enough and strong enough to eventually find her way.

Brave enough and tough enough to bring her devil down.

 

I hear the sirens late at night

and hope they’re not for her.

I see her face in dreams,

without end, I worry,

about my Emily.

Reviews

[J. Land]

This tells a beautiful, heartbreaking story. What a blight addiction has made of some of the most beautiful souls. The structure and flow are flawless, pulling the reader straight into the scene. Well done.

[Fatum]

Ahh Thank you very much, this is one of my favorites of mine. and I'm glad you enjoyed it!