The last time I saw Portland was in the spring of 1992.
I remember boarding the crowded train
After receiving the call from the Missing Person’s Bureau,
“They’d found you.”
I found you downtown on skid row in Portland sleeping on a park bench in the rain,
Fifty-six years old, homeless, and completely insane.
My tearful eyes watched as you laid belly up, a dirty, Hell’s kitchen urine stench, of a rack of bones.
A drenched bruised rat with a head of mangled lice infested hair, and no shoes.
Weakly, I cried, “Hi mom, I’ve come to take you home.”
Only to hear you scream, “Get away from me. Leave me alone.”
Then wet shadows of an old grey cat yelping, dirty claws
slapping my face, and spinning wheels...
The ugly face of schizophrenia, and your crazy, mean, wild, moan...
“I’m a queen in England. I have no relation to anyone named, Fields!”
“I said go! I’m a bum who panhandles and steals.”
Portland, spring of 1992, and suicidal thoughts on the train
ride back to California alone without you.
Dangerous thoughts stemming from guilty feelings, blaming myself completely for your insanity and your months starving without any meals.
The stranger on the train’s words echo in my head too,
“Don’t take your life because of your failure, you’ve done all you can do.”
“It will all be over soon.”
“It’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself, don’t let your mother’s mental illness keep you blue.”
“It’s your choice, let queen’s ill fate put you in an early
tomb, or let God plant flowers in your life and watch them bloom?”
CLICK and WATCH MOVIES ONLINE!
THE LAST TIME I SAW PORTLAND
