I guess it's about staring the train wreck down, right down to the rail road ties, sifting through smoke, metal and memory. "Bravery is not for the beautiful."

Mostly you will find posts that contain poems, paragraphs or narrative non-fiction in process or my thoughts on my writing adventures and of course there may be the occasional rant.

I am currently doing "the grind". It's where one writer invites another to be apart of a group. For one month the group of you email new work every day. That means I am writing every day. I will be updating more often, trying to get a little bit more comfortable putting my work "out there".

Friday, November 9, 2012

At Sunrise


I was a delivery driver and my first stop was south of Market in San Francisco. Five days a week- I would look up just a block over from Hotel Utah and there he would be silhouetted against the day, thirty stories up walking out to the tip of his crane, lunch box in hand.

Rain or shine, 6:04 am, steady feet, blue jeans and we would watch the sunrise. My day started with this dare, if he could keep walking without a safety net, so could I.

I often left my house at 2 am, biked all the way down San Pablo Avenue in Oakland, dodging johns, heroin, short skirts and vomit. The worst was the beginning of the month and end of the month--here, everything depends on a paycheck, in whatever form it comes. I saw things here, ignored things here-- that still give me nightmares-- that still shame me to silence.

I often didn't sleep, too many people, too many beers, a hopelessness all too familiar. But most days, I would force myself out of bed (in three bedroom apartment with six people) bike the 7 miles, load the truck, ignore the ache in my still bruised and swollen but flat chest, to get to this moment. This sunrise, this man, this death defying promise that he would make it. He introduced me to god and faith and love, and in return, I have simply loved him. Every sunrise, every day, every year-- I owe this man my life, he never fell- surely and every day that I was  there to witness, he walked, one foot in front of the other, silhouetted against the dawn.

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