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Richard's Home 1993

Some of Richard's friends had already moved north, to freedom, when he got on the bus to New York. Richard had been "free" for fifteen years, and homeless now for seven. His furnished little room had a nice view of a busy street below and there was even a mural downstairs which had pained images of Black men working on a shipyard. Seeing the mural made him feel proud on his way to work every morning. He was never late, and he had been out sick once, to attend a funeral.

After eight years as foreman, he was "let go". He never imagined it would be so hard and cruel to look for something else. Selling his blood barely fed him. At night, dreams took him back to a childhood of good food, hard work, and his Grandmother's yard of flowers and pinestraw and wood. 

Late one night, his cardboard house collapsed during a heavy rain.  Looking down at a soggy heap, he heard a voice like thunder roar this message through his brain, RICHARD, GO HOME!  

(C)Beverly Buchanan
Athens, GA 1993