For Lisa

I was smoking a cigarette as Jeff Mangum wailed in my ears, going through his last verse of "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea" when she stopped me. I pulled the buds out of my ears and flung the cord around my neck.

"I'm sorry, I don't usually do this, I hate asking for help. But I'm six months pregnant and I'm homeless and hungry."

I gave her my usual response. "Sorry, I don't have any money on me."

"No spare change?"

It was true. I didn't have a single bill in my wallet, and my pockets were empty of any coins. I didn't even have a SEPTA token; I was walking home from 30th Street Station.

"I don't have anything. Sorry."

Her skin was a soft, smooth black, but her face bore lines hardened by thirty-eight years of hardship. She was wearing a backpack with what I imagined were all her worldly possessions inside. I noted the additional weight she had to carry in her belly. I thought about offering her a cigarette, but quickly realized the folly in that.

"I can buy you something at a restaurant. Some fast food. I have money on my card."

"McDonald's?"

I thought about it. It was out of my way. I'd have to walk with her back to 30th Street Station. "Sure. McDonald's."

"God bless you, you are the first blessing of the day." It was 8:30 PM.

"What's your name?"

"Lisa."

Lisa and I walked down the windy street under the darkening sky as the sun quietly slipped away, unable to compete with the low clouds.

She told me about how she had been through the shelter system, and how they had a bunch of very onerous rules. If you miss the 9 PM curfew three times, you're kicked out for several months. I responded in polite, clipped words. I didn't really know what to talk about with this woman whose life was so utterly and completely different from mine.

"I know everyone's got to go through hardships in life, but..." She trailed off.

When we got to McDonald's, she asked me how much she could spend. I told her I'd buy her five dollars worth of stuff. She wanted two double cheeseburgers and three McChickens. Good choice, I thought. Healthier than what I would have gotten for five dollars -- all five in double cheeseburgers.

"Get some ketchup and honey mustard, too."

"OK," I laughed gently.

As we were waiting for the food, she asked me what my name was.

"David."

"David?" She started to laugh. "You have a black name?"

I got a little confused. What was she talking about? Was she about to give me a "black" name? Could I be a LeBron or something? Shaniqua?

"No, I don't have a black name."

"Yeah, you do. A lot of black people have that name."

"Oh, I see." Right. "I would call it more of an American name."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I meant. I'm sorry, you know, I didn't mean like, I didn't know how to put it..."

"It's OK." That was probably the tenth time I had said, "It's OK" to her.

"Where you from originally?"

"My parents are from China, but I was born here, so they gave me an American name."

The food arrived, and I asked for some ketchup and honey mustard. I took the bag and handed it to her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Take care, Lisa."

"You too."

I put my earbuds back on and walked out of the station. It was dark. The last strains of Jeff Mangum's voice in "Two-Headed Boy" floated softly back into my world, and I lit another cigarette.

spanish guitar

spanish guitar lively lively
pluckity pluckity pluck
uno uno dos dos
bicycle wheels on grass
as the sun sets
light falling falling
a chord, e chord
pablos picasso and neruda
bump bump fall fall
in the color red