The Tears of San Francisco
Damn the rain, the falling of angel’s tears.
I pass by shop windows in San Francisco not knowing where I am. Geographically, in my thoughts, I am no place, nowhere that I have been before. I am away, that much is so. Nothing is familiar away from the Hebrides. It has been this way for some months, even years, now.
I go out into the wet Frisco night, buy things and pay for them with money pulled from my jean pocket. My heart is breaking but smiles are passports, to and from strangers at least. I write my name into the hotel ledger. Outside the lobby, a homeless guy is feeding popcorn to pigeons. I observe but I am not here; as sure as I am not in my Hebridean home or writing poems in Paris with Leonard.
I participate in life, most times while in the act of sitting, seen by someone, in a bar, car, or puking my guts up on Polk Street. I am alive. I function. If I sleep the wrong way and wake up knotted, I feel the pain. I drink too much and the headache every morning is real. Proof that I’m alive. I react, I have reactions.
I cannot discern how long I’ve been away or if I’m still in transport. The memory blurs. I sit in the window overlooking Market Street, drinking a beer, wondering how I can fill up holes until they’re whole. After I’ve swallowed down enough beer, gut full, heart heavy as oak, I become a drunken child. Isn’t a child’s first duty to be home, family chores, doing back breaking work?
It is an aching tenderness.
Tomorrow, though, I might believe in some other truth than beer. Anything but be held responsible for today. Today is closed so that tomorrow can open.
A new beginning, or at least an end to today. Tears are just tears, the sun merely the sun, but both do come — seen or unseen.
More from Harry:
Do you like to scribble, or maybe do some serious writing, poems, stories, or anything on your mind. Join up with Medium. If you should do so through my LINK, you’ll be gifting this wretched soul, starving poet, hopeless romantic and drunk, a cup of coffee from your $5 a month at no cost to you! Imagine my joy!
Hey, this might be of some interest. If you would like to join Medium as a Member, giving you access to every story I write, and the whole shebang of talented writers on Medium, and you want to join up, read, or earn yourself a few coins writing, please think about using this LINK to become a member. Cost $5. You’ll be gifting me a cup of coffee, and treating yourself to the wonderland of Medium.com💜✍️
