“What could be better,”
she breathed,
“than to give it all away?”
To give it all away.
She sat
in a half lit room,
the cotton swab feel
of midnight
and isolation
in the air.
just she and I,
more than strangers,
but different enough to share
without prejudice,
without malice,
without an agenda.
Yet while I tried
I couldn’t understand.
Her unfashionably tattered jeans
were well-kept, but fading,
and her shoes were canvas red.
Nothing special.
No high heels, silk, or diamond pendants,
just worn in keds,
a t-shirt,
and a wish band
     of her name.
What could she mean?

Obviously no benefactor,
no patron or philanthropist,
I wondered at her worth.
Where giving was concerned,
what could she offer
to anyone?
What sense of satisfaction
could come from giving
of something that most people
would turn away?
Her eyes caught my question,
then leveled for an answer.
“Ridiculous, huh”
discomfort,
brief pauses,
retreats
of guilt or shame.
“Who could a girl like me help?
What could I possibly do for anyone?
But I know I have them—
I have things to give,
in a way.”
I stumbled through the usual,
embarrassed myself,
assuring her of her worth,
and her personality.
But truly
my mind sighed,
rolling chemical eyes
in pity of one so lost.
They grow fewer
as reality,
and maturity,
and the world step in.
But sadly some remain,
convinced of the good of selflessness,
ignoring their social sickness,
setting their minds on high
all to forget the depths where they must live,
and they must stay
due to ineptitude
and a lack of ambition
in a world all too ready to fly by.
Poor animals,
     that’s all,
convinced that they’re saving the planet
while they dwindle in numbers
and die,
alone and forgotten,
angry at the apathy of humanity,
suffering from a different type of apathy.
While these thoughts crossed my mind
I stared as she talked
of family
and friends,
of God and love,
like looking at the ill
who have no time to live
and no concept of uselessness
     of the time they have left,
and I grew angry
at the waste of a life.
She was pretty,
if not beautiful,
presentable,
and her eyes were so trusting and blue,
a seducer’s eyes,
a seller’s eyes—
offset by soft cream skin
and a shy smile
that stole their edge
and enforced her innocence.
I wanted to help her—
to tell her to see life
as it was,
to change,
to chase while she could,
so that she would not grow
so laughable and weak.
I wanted to give of advice that would truly help,
and tell her to take for a while,
to give to herself.
But I didn’t.
Breath is too often wasted on lost causes.
So I listened,
nodded,
and smiled
as she emptied thoughts
     and prepared to leave.
Better to let her live in ignorance
than in doubt.
“Well I guess I should go.”
And I didn’t argue,
grabbing her coat
as she headed for the door.
The night outside was cool,
and as she turned to go
we paused.

“To give it all away.
Is there anything better?
Anything sweeter?
Anything greater?
Anything that lifts you closer to heaven
and farther from this place
where we’ve been forced to live.
Oh John, you have so much to give.
Could there be anything better than that?”
To give it all away.
I laughed a bit
and she turned red at her excitement.
I said I’d think about it
as we chuckled
our hugs and goodbyes.
And she finally did leave,
back to a life where she was nothing,
with nothing to give.
Such a waste
     of the one life she has.
As I turned
I looked at the stars
and the purple sky.
Clouds were rolling from the east
as a storm approached,
menacing and chilly,
but just another part of life
like so many other things.