By Joanne Jagoda
A rare January-in-Northern California morning
colder than New York City.
I layered best I could,
adding a knit hat and furry gloves.
And can I tell you about the sky,
cerulean blue, a rare slice of heaven
that took my breath.
The lake shimmers as if knowing,
it’s on prominent display.
Ducks gleefully skimming the water
of this urban paradise.
City gardeners tend to flower beds.
Nannies prattling in Spanish wheel their little charges.
A weary man warms in the sun,
naps on graffitied benches,
his backpack serves as a hard pillow.
Another lost soul shuffles by, body odor trailing,
earnestly mumbling to himself, holding up his pants.
A woman carts a worn carry-on, pauses for a smoke,
asks passersby for money.
Joggers push through, oblivious to everything
except keeping up their pace.
On the perimeter, ragged tents and tarps
provide makeshift shelter for homeless.
Clothing hangs from branches of once stately oak trees.
The clutter is endless—
desk chairs, blankets, duffels, hot dog buns,
empty wine bottles, single running shoes,
even a glittery high heel.
As I walk, Welcome to the Hotel California
streams in my earbuds.
The words seem oddly appropriate.
“This could be Heaven or
this could be Hell.”
Published in RavensPerch
Photo by Puma Atbay on Unsplash
Joanne Jagoda 