Food for Thought

My two young daughters and I are at the grocery checkout. Ahead is a homeless woman of indeterminate age, a fixture in the neighborhood for years. Stooped, hair in disarray, teeth in need of more than a good brushing, she is wearing multiple layers of clothing, several more than necessary for the warm fall weather. She keeps glancing through the glass storefront at the shopping cart full of her stuff that is chained to a No Parking sign.

summer hours
between her groceries and mine
a wooden bar

One at a time, she places sixteen cans of cat food, a box of crackers, a box of tea bags and a couple of bars of soap on the counter. Short of money, she puts the soap aside. The girls look at me expectantly, barely able to restrain themselves until we reach the parking lot. The woman and her…