Nancy

I met Nancy at a weekly meeting
she asked me if I could take her home
conveniently located on route to my own
so I agreed to take her to her address
a friendship develop and we talked about
our lives she told me about the how the roads
to the grand canyon were made
from cut logs placed over miles of red dirt
the model T’s would wobble and bump
never traveled more than 25 miles an hour
but the spectacular sight made the trip worth it
the roads rebuilt still have only two lanes

always ready when I arrived
a small two bedroom home in Norwalk
she remembered when it was mostly farming town
and saw Cal Worthington, as a young man,
hawking cars at the side of the road
married one of the Oakies, an ambitious young man
named Russ, who pulled himself up by his bootstraps
after the war worked together to get an education
and buy their own business, selling furniture
to the post war crowd moving into California in the 50’s.
The were rich in those days, an attractive couple
active in the community with one daughter with long red hair.

She bragged about the days her hair was also red
still wore in long, now all grey, tied in a bun
off set with antique combs she got from her mother
her nails were always polished although underneath
they were dirty, and she smelled of urine
and stale perfume, but in her mind she was still grand
like when she and Russ were young
met senators and presidents since they were active
in the Republican election committee all that ended
when Russ died, it was her birthday
she remembered in clearly, he he was out of town
they talked on the phone then a heart attack and it was over.

Went into shock, breast cancer followed
her lush beautiful locks fell out one by one,
and though she recovered her hair never returned
to the beautiful luster before all her trauma.
One day she called and said I needed to come over
her daughter wasn't home and she had to go
to the doctor. It was the first time I went into her house
overwhelmed by the smell, decayed food and human waste,
papers piled high, a small TV buzzed with static
one chair to sit on then a path in the carpet
from chair to kitchen, bathroom and bedroom
needed help to get her out the door she ended up in the hospital.

I talked to her daughter, describing the mess
she shrugged saying there was nothing to do
her mother was stubborn, wouldn’t let anyone inside
was surprised I had seen the mess
her mom was quite secretive, that is, before she got sick
and what was there to do about it anyway?
Social workers were called to visit her home
volunteers from the church came to remove the clutter
paint the walls replace the carpet, fix the plumbing
put in new toilet, sink and tub
and make the house comfortable when she returned.

Nancy cried when she came home
angry we had gone through her stuff
looking for her treasures from when she and Russ
were the envy of town, couldn’t find anything she loved
how could anyone come in without her permission
to rearrange her house and then she died soon afterwards.
The moral of the story is: just because a place
looks like hell and doesn’t seem a fit place to dwell
you’re better off leaving it alone, because stuff
is more than props, sometimes it holds the strings
that make sense of our lives, so in the future
don't touch just leave things alone.