'Have any shoes?' he asks... I am soleless.' he said...

Dear Anonymous,

'Have any shoes?' he asks.
What size?
'9 and a half.'
I don't have any today.
He shows me his right foot. The sole and heel are gone from his construction boots.
'Sole-less. Like me.' he says.

'Hardly without soul.' I say and then he beams this smile no mask can hide.

It has been pouring rain. Guys out here with sneakers have wet feet. They can't wait to get dry socks.
A new book for The Reader. Coffee cake. Coffee cards.
'Hey, you don't smoke but you got a light?'
I am grateful I do.
It is breezy. I cup my hands around the hesitant flame of an old lighter I found in my emergency gear. He leans in to light his cigarette. The cigarette trembles in his mouth. I notice he keeps his hands in his pocket for the most part and when he grasps the cigarette between two fingers they are shaking too.

I am soleless.' he said.

And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind...

Dear Anonymous,
And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind. The man next to him is wearing a hat we handed him weeks ago and I comment on it. I congratulate him for still having it. So, cigarette in the lips, he quickly points to his mask and smiles. I smile too. Because it is a mask we handed him also several weeks ago. We celebrate this small victory over personal space and belongings for just a fraction of a second.

It's a thing. Some of these guys arrive each morning having lost everything including sometimes the shirt off their back.

One man arrives in tough shape with a shirt that reads NO REGRETS. I comment on it . He says' Yeah....but I got plenty of 'em.'
His eyes meet mine looking up from his downcast face.

Something we have in common.

He doesn't love to be photographed. But he gives permission. He's looking for...

Dear Anonymous,
He doesn't love to be photographed. But he gives permission. He's looking for a pair of shoes we had for him yesterday. But he can't find them. Size 15.
'I wasn't coherent yesterday.' he whispers in a quiet and raspy voice.
He asks for sage, a pair of socks 'Can you spare two?'. He needs a shower he says. We get some clean clothes rounded up.He taps his medicine bundle with his hand, near his heart and nods his head ever so slightly with gratitude to Maria, of the Penobscot Nation.Thank you.
He does not like being photographed and changes his posture immediately when the camera comes out ...but he allows me and I know this is a gift from him. He is a man of tender heart.

He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.

Dear Anonymous,

He contributed to Dear Anonymous when he received his stimulus check.

Not sure how the conversation got here but Mike tells me his grandfather used to say...

Dear Anonymous,

Not sure how the conversation got here but Mike tells me his grandfather used to say 'Your ass is grass. And I'm the lawn mower.' and would then thrash him.And then another man chimes in, 'My mom chased me with one of those long oversized wooden cooking spoons and whacked me on the ass....'
Another man passing by trying to get to a bathroom says 'There's a special place in heaven for you guys (Dear Anonymous).
I say, We'll meet you there.
He says, 'I 'll say hello on my way through but that's not where I'm headed. Can't do what I've done in this life and stay in heaven. My friend said 'We die into life. And then he drove his car at top speed into a brick wall.'
He hesitates, pouts his lips and says 'Yeah. He never felt no pain.'

Coffee cards. Socks. Do you have a backpack? You remembered my shoe size! Do you need pants? What size?Bye. Love you. 

He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation...

Dear Anonymous,

He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation. Upset with a possible relationship break up. No reserve to cope with the emotional onslaught. In the ER a woman wails as her husband dies there. He leaves the ER.
'Can't handle it. I was depressed going in, and then THAT?'

Another man shares his plan to get on a bus today to Boston. He can't make enough signing on the street up here since Covid19.

Socks. Water. Coffee cards. A t shirt. Tiny little props for an unhinged moment.

...One thing for sure: Masks cannot hide smiles.

Dear Anonymous,
I had never seen him without a hat. Which he was asking for. Which I do not have. One thing for sure:
Masks cannot hide smiles.

He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous)...

Dear Anonymous,

He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous). He comments on the protests and broken windows of storefronts. He has nothing, he says, but what I see. His voice barely audible.
I am thinking about this phrase WE ARE ONE. And I think yes, yes, we are one. As long as this WE includes the staggering 'drunk' on the corner who has just vomited on my shoes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand black with grime. And the young kid in active addiction behind my back desperately trying to steal my wallet or run off with a friends' backpack. As long as it includes the ragged and drawn woman selling her body because that's the condition for her survival. As long as it includes her pimp. And her children. And those that may decry her behavior. We are one as long as it includes that politician that turns my stomach or yours, whose voice comes on the radio and we slam the radio off. As long as it includes people who praise him or her. Yes, as long as it includes that 'idiot' on the highway who cuts me or you off, or gives us the finger for our latest transgression per them. As long as it includes me having the word 'idiot' even flash across my mind. Yes as long as this includes those that will mock mask wearers. As long as it includes the mask wearers. Yes as long as this includes that exasperated man infuriated about getting his coffee order wrong. And that barista just trying to make ends meet struggling with two young children at home without childcare. If it includes her critics. As long as it includes that cop who intentionally kneeled on a mans neck for 9 minutes, killing him. As long as it includes that man who is now dead and as long as it includes his entire community. And the people who are angry about that. On both sides.
We are one. But I sit with those words a bit. If we are one, I don't think we get to select what makes up ONE.

Beyond capacity for one more WTF

Beyond capacity for one more WTF 

At 4 AM I have no concern with social distancing. Never have. It's lovely.

At 4 AM I have no concern with social distancing. Never have. It's lovely.

I had not seen him without a heavy coat. Neck wraps, scarves, hats, gloves. All necessary just a few weeks ago...

Dear Anonymous,

I had not seen him without a heavy coat. Neck wraps, scarves, hats, gloves. All necessary just a few weeks ago. He was always so cold and woefully underdressed. Today, without hat and heavy gear I feel like I meet him for the first time. And he stepped right into the social distance a lens offers. And that smile. A good start to the day.
And for those who may notice, no one is wearing masks out here. A few carry masks with them if they want to use the bus.
And many are hobbling. Sore, swollen feet. Held captive too long in heavy boots. They have to be able to walk. That's where the sock urgency comes in. It becomes obvious all too soon that foot health is paramount to life on the street.

Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff...

Dear Anonymous,

Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff. Emotionally exhausted. Emotionally exhausting. Pierce through that at any moment and you'll find a heart.
The young kid? Black eye healing. Talking rat- a- tat about this and that and his friend down in the park and the girl he was with that had broken quarantine and got hauled away by the police, or winds up at the ER. Pierce through that at any point and you find a heart.
And the guy folded over sitting on the curb staring at his feet? With stories of FBI infiltration and how they sprayed us back in February as a mass control conspiracy? Pierce through that at any seam and you'll find a heart.
Broken. Wobbly. Injured. Beating irregularly. But that heart will beat with yours for just this moment. Heartbeat of these streets.

He reminds me of many young men I have met...

Dear Anonymous,

He reminds me of many young men I have met. Handsome. Young. So young. Stories of lives detoured by drugs. Colleges left. Classes abandoned. Families distanced. The siren of heroin. The mistress who will not be refused easily. It may not be his exact story but some of the refrains are so familiar. The despondency cloaked as survival skill.

He shows me he still has the mask he requested from me last week. Tucked away safely in his pocket. To use on the bus. He shows me.

So many young men. And women. Derailed. I am fortunate, blessed really, to know many that have flourished in recovery. And their about-faces hold me in these moments. Not that I insist it should be any different than it is, but that it CAN be.
Maybe there really is a season, and a time for every purpose, under heaven.

Electron microscopy of Covid19. Nah, it's a dandelion that graces each of its seeds with aviation capability.

Electron microscopy of Covid19. Nah, it's a dandelion that graces each of its seeds with aviation capability.

Struggling. Stresses mount up. Smaller stresses connect to larger stresses. To traumas...

Dear Anonymous,
Struggling. Stresses mount up. Smaller stresses connect to larger stresses. To traumas. Become unmanageable. Highly charged. And then it's desperate. Simply what it looks like from here. Behind my mask.
Racing ahead in established patterns and trying to push pause in newer ones. The drama on the street. The drama in a heart. How we escalate and stand convicted to our efforts and then add escalation in defense. Simply what it looks like from here. Behind my mask. I recognize this thing we humans do. Heartache on the corner.

This is Mike. This morning he had this smile. Always good to see him sporting a smile...

Dear Anonymous,

This is Mike. This morning he had this smile. Always good to see him sporting a smile. The alternative can be as grim as this is uplifting.
Lots of water handed out. Appreciation for a coffee card. A pair of socks. Some looking quite content and pleased. Some in pretty rough shape. No one wearing masks anymore. Not even an effort. Except for those using the bus. They tell me they can't ride without one.
There is one. One who shys away from any group at all though on his own speaks as a gentleman. Says he's working on getting into rehab. Says he hopes it's next week. He says ' I'm killin' myself out here.' And he looks worse each day. Scars across his face where he has fallen. He blames his bum knee but he and I and his street pals all know it's more that that. I believe he has good shelter overnight. But he roams from early morning. Leaning on his cane. The lines on his face deepening each day. And the sticky strands of whatever demons follow him are thick in the air as he turns the corner.

John Ford, born John Martin Feeney. Movie director, veteran and Portland Native. Doing his part.

John Ford, born John Martin Feeney. Movie director, veteran and Portland Native. Doing his part.

Love in the Age of Covid19. The couple wore matching gloves and coordinated masks.

Love in the Age of Covid19. The couple wore matching gloves and coordinated masks.

And when the camera came out so briefly and he stood on the other end of my car and said...

Dear Anonymous,

And when the camera came out so briefly and he stood on the other end of my car and said 'Take a picture of me!' with such enthusiasm I was caught off guard. I zoom in and he opens himself up into this smile. Without self consciousness.
And off he went, coffeecake in hand and a pair of socks tucked into his pocket.

'Take a picture of ME!'
See me.
I am here.
I am.
Here.

From a distance. A world upended. Bus schedules changing. Caseworkers availability...

Dear Anonymous,

From a distance. A world upended. Bus schedules changing. Caseworkers availability changing. Court dates changing. A general hunger for contact. The same stories of stolen backpacks and lost gear. Things left here. And there. How did we all get here. How do we stay. Some have left like an electron skipping into another orbit and they disappear. I wonder where they all are. I hear from some. Struggling with depression and anxiety and their affection for drugs that help quell those demons. And on we go. Walking one another home from 6' away. But still walking.