I have a son.  He’s homeless.  He has a mental disorder, but one that could be managed.  He’s chosen a life that I cannot fathom.  As a mother, I feed him when he shows up on my doorstep.  On frigidly cold days I wonder where he is.

It’s cold,
it’s freezing,
he’s homeless.
Where is he?
I wonder
where people go
when there is no place
to call home.
Is the street,
under stairs,
inside a building…
His mind
to not see
not care.
There’s nothing
I can do,
not even
that person
is my son,
on the outside
of life,
not caring.
He’s free
to do
as he wants.
But still I think,
it’s cold,
it’s freezing,
he’s homeless…
where is he?
Under stairs,
in buildings?
Does it matter?
When your son
to not seek help
What can you do?
Except think…
it’s cold
it’s freezing
I hope
you find shelter.


Loly M.

January 2, 2015