Shelby Said
by Mary Shanley
Yesterday, there was a café here
and now, suddenly, there isn’t.
Life disappears while we sleep.
Homeless live on many corners.
Shelby plants a mattress and pillows
on the corner outside the building where
I live. Neighbors donate sheets, pillowcases
a woolen blanket and a warm winter coat
to help Shelby, as she takes yet another night ride
through vulnerability.
“Better the street than the shelter,” Shelby said.
“I keep all my belongings in a shopping
cart, where I can keep an eye on them.”
Another bank opens
Another Starbucks opens
Another Duane Reade opens
Another nail parlor opens.
Another bookstore closes
Another family restaurant closes
Another record store closes
Another hospital closes.
Shelby moved across the street
to Starbucks, where the scaffolding
will help protect her from the rain and snow.
She placed her mattress on top of
A heating grate, to help her stay warm.
For the time being, Shelby is doing
alright, though she lives on the cusp
of the destruction of her meager
way of life.
This morning I crossed the street to say hello
to Shelby and was surprised to discover she had
disappeared.
The mattress, the pillows, the hand-colored signs,
all gone.
I went into Starbucks and asked
the manager if they were responsible
for the disappearance of Shelby,
but he didn’t even realize she was gone.
Shelby is gone.
Like the brick and mortar stores
that disappeared on our block;
she probably won’t be coming back.
and now, suddenly, there isn’t.
Life disappears while we sleep.
Homeless live on many corners.
Shelby plants a mattress and pillows
on the corner outside the building where
I live. Neighbors donate sheets, pillowcases
a woolen blanket and a warm winter coat
to help Shelby, as she takes yet another night ride
through vulnerability.
“Better the street than the shelter,” Shelby said.
“I keep all my belongings in a shopping
cart, where I can keep an eye on them.”
Another bank opens
Another Starbucks opens
Another Duane Reade opens
Another nail parlor opens.
Another bookstore closes
Another family restaurant closes
Another record store closes
Another hospital closes.
Shelby moved across the street
to Starbucks, where the scaffolding
will help protect her from the rain and snow.
She placed her mattress on top of
A heating grate, to help her stay warm.
For the time being, Shelby is doing
alright, though she lives on the cusp
of the destruction of her meager
way of life.
This morning I crossed the street to say hello
to Shelby and was surprised to discover she had
disappeared.
The mattress, the pillows, the hand-colored signs,
all gone.
I went into Starbucks and asked
the manager if they were responsible
for the disappearance of Shelby,
but he didn’t even realize she was gone.
Shelby is gone.
Like the brick and mortar stores
that disappeared on our block;
she probably won’t be coming back.
Mary Shanley is a poet living with her wife in New York City. She began to publish her poetry at the behest of Allen Ginsberg and Lucien Carr. Her first poems were published in Long Shot Magazine. She has had three books of poetry published: Hobo Code Poems, Things They Left Behind, and Poems for Faces. She has had one book of short stories published: Mott Street Stories and Las Vegas Stories. She is a frequent contributor to online journals and was The Featured Poet on WBAI FM radio, NYC, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.