Douglas Tetrault

This piece is a reflection on Tent City 2008, a 5-day homelessness simulation during which we raised $5,000 for the local homeless haven, the Committee on Temporary Shelter.

It was the city of dreams,
made of tarp with tape at the seams,
We pitched and patched tents torn all to shreds,
And strung up the poles to make livable mends,
Five had gone up and then six until nine,
Ten tents took time placing their find.

The chilly sun a shining, a magical marvelous day,
As we sat in the glimmer with so much to say,
So we moved our belongings, clatter and clutter,
Lining the walls for protected wind shutter.
“Cold night tonight,” they said some more,
“Cold and rainy the weather will bore,
So button it up before water whips through,
Keep dry in the feet and your cotton cap too!”

But beyond the shiver of November eves
A greater tragedy had set the siege,
“It is art,” we said, “no care what the look,
We can live in poverty – and write our own book.”

So cold we stayed but begged we did,
For we needed money to present our bid.
Beyond bountiful glory our efforts succeeded,
Doubling our dimension of giving and feeding.

We lived in the hard while emotions ran high,
We stumbled in slush as we lay down to cry,
We were without a place to call home or good,
We huddled in the corner under a savior’s hood.
We grew tired in days as the floods came on through.
We saw the faces—of the people we knew.

“Oh no they are drunkards, thieves and felons galore
How can you help their dirty poor core?”
Some saw confused conscience in wrongful woes,
But nevertheless we fight for their foes.
Some gave questions to our far-fetched friends,
“But the homeless are here, they need our hands!”

The people pondering financial fallacy and forgotten children,
Grown graciously by the hand none or ten.

We are them.

We sleep in watered-down bunks four feet from five dorms
And you wonder who we stand for?

We stand for the men and women and families.
Little more grotesque judgment of off-figured fatalities.
Not through sullen sympathy can we see standards set changes,
But through humble human heroism releasing the cages.

And we are gracious for our peers and educators to see once again-
That every bit counts.

We are gracious that cold nights and tired days will give a warmth-
To those without.

We must remember the human elements-
The piece tough tied together and hung for its own empathy.

We are not white, or black, rich or poor. We are not men.
We are not women. We are not straight or gay or in between.
We are not democrats, or republicans.

We are human beings, forgetting our given place.
Finding solace in a hungry face.
It is about us, not hem for we are all in the same
A community one people- none should be shamed.
And now you must think at your feast and dinner
If you see they as “them”—then you are the sinner.

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