At The Ballard Food Bank
If you are lucky enough
There are fresh cut flowers
Only 109 numbers separate me
From the belly of the bank – grocery heaven.
Female client, hair – hue, texture and touch of a Brillo pad
Bent over green Narcotics Anonymous workbook
Has the shakes, mouth gacking, a rubber band snapping.
Last week, ladies in the “Hygiene Closet” gifted me
#680 Lancôme’ black widow lush mascara.
I’ve sported spider-like lashes since
I am the only one in the room not wearing a coat.
B.O.C. black petal sandals, diagonal kiwi Baggallini
The hash mark across my chest
editing me from this story.
In May of 2012, while training to be a volunteer advocate for the homeless in her hometown of Olympia, Washington, poet Patty Kinney became homeless. She and the youngest of her six sons, spent 55 days navigating shelters , couches and cots. Kinney holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. The poet is working on a chapbook and enjoys being referred to as an “immersion poet” while navigating bastard power bills, mental illness, food banks and the writing life.