Overheard in a Church Basement on Christmas Eve

Catherine Gigante-Brown

“Sorry I was late for service, Pastor.” 

“Things happen, Henry.”

Sipping lukewarm coffee from a paper cup, Henry sighs.
“The worst part about being homeless
is that there’s no place to wash my clothes,
or dry them, if I can rinse them in a hospital sink. 

“The shelters aren’t safe.
How can you sleep
wearing your shoes
so no one steals them? 

“I walk the streets at night,
then get on the train
if someone gives me a swipe,
sleep ‘til seven
or until someone gives me a nudge
to wake me up. 

“It’s a vicious cycle:
If I get a job I can’t stay in shelters.
If I don’t stay in shelters,
I can’t get an apartment.
If I don’t get an apartment,
I can’t get a job. 

“I have a warm coat but I need sneakers.
I got a pair of those skinny jeans from CHIPS.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful
but those jeans were so tight
they made my voice higher,
so I just gave them back. 

“I need a place to eat, sleep, wash.
Basic human dignity.
I feel so bad I could cry, Pastor.” 

Pastor Dave disappears into the back room,
comes back after a few minutes,
slips Henry a handful of folded bills.
“Get something to eat,” Pastor Dave says. 

Then he wishes Henry a Merry Christmas,
knowing it will be anything but. 

Catherine Gigante-Brown is a writer of fiction, nonfiction and poetry, I’m grateful to have studied with Audre Lorde when she taught at Hunter College. (I’m sorry I gave her such a hard time.) My works have appeared in publications like Spillwords and What Rough Beast, and have been performed in Emotive Fruition.