Art & Poetry

Home Sweet Home Again

Project Description

Evicted in Slow Motion | Ray Connors

Sadness and memories come over me.

I sift through the pieces of the last ten years here.

Throwing out the accretions, finding memories of people who once passed through my life.

Notes and artworks of a past now gone.

With eviction held against me, a small room in a house on a corner where drugs are dealt all night is the near future, then probably homeless, holding a sign, begging.

Combat Medic, Quang Ngai 68–69, please help.

Any change is good, only two-and-a-half days left of my life, as I knew it here.

Sadness and memory suffers this place where for ten years I could live my life until the extortions of petty fees not in the lease brought me to resist believing in the law.

Testifying for another tenant, calling inspectors over falling bricks and fire code violations.

Seeing others evicted for poverty really; the manager, a crook with a bank account in the Bahamas, where the little extortions are laundered.

The owners, under shell corporations, are the laundry.

Dominion Investments Bahamas, it’s all explained on their Web site and in “Mother Jones” magazine, November 2000, “The Trillion Dollar Hideaway.”

This dust beneath the farthest corners is the dust of my life.
Tonight my loving little cat curled on my bed with me in this bare room.

We are homeless at noon tomorrow. There is a prospect of a room for us, but no deal is signed, no check written until money is direct deposited on the first.

Evicted, for calling building inspectors too often, in a building with falling bricks and failed fire alarms.

The fire was in the apartment above mine last fall, early in the morning. The alarms didn’t sound. A tenant saw the smoke and saved lives.

Repairs were made cheap. Cheating on the building code. Then the heat was turned off and I called inspectors.

I fought eviction attempts through the winter, and then my lawyers sold me out. “Negotiation,” he called it. Eviction in slow motion.

The last evening of ten years in this place.

The apartment is now nearly bare; a feeling of change comes over me.

The future is rushing on. Nothing will remain.

Insecurity, tumbling dice. To live with little money, to have no control, limited options.

Accepting whatever direction is open, with so many closed. When a door closes for the poor, nothing opens.

Sun is up, low clouds and cold. Nothing to do but wait for my friend with his truck to come.

Out by noon, the court said, the lawyers all agreed. My interest was considered they said, but it was a lie. They were hurrying to get rid of me.

Now I have no home to go to, just the prospect of a room. Later today, maybe. My sweet and loyal cat sits on a box and waits with me.

Evicted
In slow motion.

Sadness and memories come over me.

I sift through the pieces of the last ten years here.

Throwing out the accretions, finding memories of people who once passed through my life.

Notes and artwork of a past now gone.

With eviction held against me. A small room in a house on a corner where drugs are dealt all night is the near future.

Then probably homeless, holding a sign, begging:

Combat Medic, Quang Ngai 68–69
PLEASE HELP!

Any change is good. Only two-and-a-half days left of my life as I knew it here.

This dust beneath the farthest corners is the dust of my life.