Bag of Rags

It was late fall, early in the morning
And she was at her usual spot
In the City Dump.
Sitting on a small crate
Made her search easier.
She liked to pick through
The wonderful variety of rags,
Looking for pieces useful o saleable.
One time she found a pair of gloves --
Not just one, but two and matching.
She felt very elegand that day
As she strolled back to her

She enjoyed the unexpectedness--
Never knowing what she'd find
Or how she'd use it when she did.
It was always a blessing when
She found something whole.
Like that tiny basket made with
Colored glass beads and safety pins.
Mostly she'd look for plastic bags
because that meant 'category'-
Things of a kind that folks would
Throw out on the dump
For discriminating folks like her
Who had known real quality.

She had enough experience
To separate the good from the bad.
Her crate home was comfortably
Done with scrounged objects.
She was daring enough to make her bed
of large bags of plastic bags.
She didn't even explore its contents.
That gave her an exquisite feeling.
Not knowing what those bags might
Conceal in their midst - just imagine,
Her sleeping on such luxury!

This day wasn't going too well -
Nothing caught her eye.
Either it didn't fit or had no style.
But oh, now here was something -
A beautiful lace handkerchief,
Torn on one corner but no matter.
It felt so nice even in her rough hand.
She stopped by the homeless shelter
To shower and to wash the handkerchief.
She pressed it on the mirror and waited
While it dried - noting the envy
Of the ladies as they passed the mirror.

She folded it ever so carefully.
And went home to find a safe place
For her very nice handkerchief.
It was of the finest linen, like silk,
She thought it was the possibly
The loveliest she had ever owned.
She put it on the small box by her bed.
It warmed her heart as the chill of winter
Sifted through the tiny openings
In the walls of her home.
And that's where they found her
Sleeping in death on her bag of rags

With the fur stole and a diamond or two.
Covering her face was the loveliest
Lace handerchief she had ever owned.

(c)Beverley Isaksen          2007

from I'm Not Leaving Yet