NEWSPAPERS

the house stinks of

mental instability, illness

stinks of newspapers

stinks of reclusiveness

closed curtains, wrapped like

the wings of a bat

the house oozes darkness and

loss

newpapers and periodicals cover

every square inch of tabletop and furniture

through the haze of Print

an old television sits silent

'i'm sorry for the mess,' she says

'i've just been busy with all the paperwork

of customs to france.'

she wears a knee-length winter coat

and a scarf

and blue jeans tucked into pink socks

tucked into moon-boots

and her eyes are black olives

behind her wire rim glasses

i nod and say that i've seen worse and

i have, but barely

she is alone and old

and her family (?) has gone back to paris

after hurricanes katrina and rita

'i've been so busy sending money and clothes,'

she says

'i haven't had time to keep the house up but i will,

soon.'

i nod and say that i've seen worse and

i have, but barely

she follows us outside

through her garage, in which

a celica with a half-amputated front bumper

and newspapers and newspapers and

newspapers reign supreme

'i'm embarrassed by my house.'

she rifles through sheaves of legal papers

'i had to hire a handwriting expert,"

she tells us,

because They were forging my signature in customs.'

the cost of the expert: 1500 dollars

her peace of mind: priced out of her reach

i go back in and turn down her thermostat

--she might forget about it--

--and she might run up the bill--

--and she might get it shut off again--

she flips through the legal papers and

shows me the forgeries

i know not at what i am looking

--nor do i really care--

and so i nod and say, 'yup.'

lost woman

forgotten woman

in an invisble hovel

and i wonder just

how many of them are out there,

flying under the radar of

news at eleven and

two for tuesday pizza deals?