My gaze has lifted broken spirits.
I know this to be true.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Weary eyes turn to face me, puckered skin, feathery soft arms, and shoulders so slumped, they cannot be considered erect.
Her puny mouth opens, as though she has nothing to contribute, a voice so indiscernible, I have to lean WAY in. She speaks of
a son, lost to heroin, a daughter that took her children away, racing as far from the outstretched arm of a killer, the husband died of a broken heart, she breathes in long and quaky. She comes here every year for Christmas lunch because she can get a ride from the cheerful pastor who lives down the block.
I understand she’s wearing a wig. Perhaps her few strands are willowy and white. Maybe Cancer snatched it from her oval little head. Could be old age rubbed it off, with the angst and terrible conditions, standing witness to Sorrow and Forlorn.
Lipstick travels beyond the line of her lips, as though she’s practicing being a clown and was late for the Circus Act. Deep red scribbled-on in a big hurry. Her mouth is permanently downturned, I think, heavy with grief, or just too much mischief? The eyes, lined in a harsh purple, blare out, to emphasize her hurt. Her nose, a bit crooked, has me consider a violent past.
A church frock drapes the frame, shrunken and tattered a little at the seams. I can’t see anything but fingers, until she impatiently swipe at the arms, to reveal chicken forearms, veins bulging out like they are eager to donate at the Blood Bank. I’m certain they’d turn her away, due to iron-poor blood.
With a lot of scuffling, we make it to her table with a plate heaped with dripping ham, a mound of heady mashed potatoes, glorious orange carrots, good hunk of chocolate cream pie and a cup of sugar-laced coffee. Where she thinks she’ll store all of that, in her minuscule frame, I’ll never know.
I promise I’ll come back to hear more of her story, as soon as I help a few others with their plates.
"Don’t worry, dear," she mutters, "I’m fine. You take care of the others." She lifted her loaded fork to her now smeared lips and grinned at me.
Merry Christmas!