Summer Ray

I have tried on many lives on my own.  

Night falls, and curtains close on another.

In all the stars from the Milky Way, 

Never seen one shine brighter than you. 

The Big Dipper doesn’t smile the way you do,

Warm like a summer ray, you are July incarnate. 

When I fled grad school to Cornell, 

it was your face I missed. 

On the slopes of the Rockies mountains,

 the sight that unsteadied me was your face. 

But when you left the city, 

I think I forgot to remember you.  

Is this emotion honest? Yes, I only borrowed the words. 

Had to borrow some words to say how I feel. 

July retreating into Fall. 

If I could take us back to December, in the lounge,

I would in half a heartbeat.

If I can’t relate to you anymore,

who am I related to anymore? 

Was there ever a long haul?

And I could’ve gotten on.

Or did I live in delusion?

Now and all my days.

NYC lights have nothing on you,

standing in the kitchen in your PJs.

When I met you I feared nothing,

As I knew you I feared death.

I came for the sights,

and wanted a ticket to the whole show.

What’s a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed

myself to the edge, while you waited and

grew in disappointment?

People of Portland

The City of Portland is filled with people. People from different states and nations. People driving different colored cars with different licenses plates pledging allegiance to different state animals. But although most of these people are from rich families, some of them are homeless. 

Starbucks

Homeless...

Like any growing metropolitan area, Portland bath in the warmth of rapid economic growth whilst braving the underside of the urban development current. Homelessness can be seen everywhere. From the high-end fashion districts to the ragged industrial zone, and all the way to the city square people silently suffer from homelessness. Portlandians are now well trained in the subtle art of looking away at just the right moment to avoid the eye of a panhandler on a street corner. It becomes as essential as Chesla boots, marijuana, and Starbucks coffee for the ubiquity they shared. One cannot miss them on a walk through the city, from Kings Heights down to the eastern waterfront. 

Just as the Portlandians train in the arts, the people who are homeless train to be professionals. They have to be. Homelessness is a 24-hour job that doesn’t pay well. Upward mobility is nothing but a joke. Bulletproof palladium glass hardens into glass ceilings, the kind stronger than steel but still see-through. No training is required beforehand. But at night, the 50-degree temperature swings of the Pacific Northwest can freeze any knowledge into memory. Always the professionals act in devoted observance to the truism of their reality. The etiquette of always looking lost, tired, unwanted, and devoid of life is required. Like all jobs, homelessness does come with one perk. The professionals in this field need not stress over who to Snapchat, any he says, she says drama, nor the decision of Maroon red or Serene sea for the living room walls. They are focused individuals whose only goal consists of crawling the same walk of life walked by Portlandians. 

Side Glance

Art of Elegant Ignorance

The city of Portland is grateful to have the service of these professionals. The store owners create special signs for those who frequented their stores to direct them elsewhere. Lips services are often given to these professionals, detailing the great debt the city owes them. 🌃  Accordingly, the men and women in uniforms often pay these professionals visits in patrol cars. Careful to protect the workspace of the homeless people, those in charge of the city make sure said spaces are clean by cleaning out the bum, the penniless poor, and the various other decays of western civilization. Naturally, the professionals wouldn’t want them there. What they do want are special vacations to “shelter #27” or soup kitchen xxx.

The regular people of the city are the most joyous of all. For without the homeless professionals they would not have appreciated the art of avoiding eye contact nearly as much. Portlandians of all race, age, and gender put on spontaneous art shows demonstrating fine practices of the art. From time to time, one might lose his perfect form and let loose a couple dollars. But that’s ok. The art is a difficult field to master, certainly no less difficult than any profession. To preserve the sanctity of the art of elegant ignorance, offenders dirtying the respectable practice of homelessness contemplate in remorse: they will know to do better next time.

But not everyone agrees with the traditional art form. 

As soon as I was handed my camera and told,

 “go explore” 

I remembered being caught up in the romanticism of: "I can help, and my camera can help.”

Every Saturday Morning and Sunday afternoon, a well dressed preppy wandered the streets of Portland and stalked all the shelters. 

I wanted to dig deep into the human condition to reveal some truth that, in my naiveté, I didn’t know everyone else already understood, and the homeless seemed like an easy target. They’re omnipresent, and they can’t really not offer consent. Thousands of shutter clicks later, dramatic pictures of haunted and lost souls filled my hard drive. 

One night I looked up to relief my neck from its incessant complaining, it was 2:30 am. Still Angry about messing up the last tutorial and leaving out too much detail in the mid-tone of the image, I suddenly awoke from my half daze.  Converting to black & white, bringing up the contrast and sharpening the detail, I was religious in my practice of Photoshop. But I was scared that I left out too much. For a person suffering from homelessness, nothing I did give him a life beyond his condition.

So, why am I still doing it? 

Forward and Onward, never stopping before until justice prevails.