“Mom, why do her feet look like that?” I ask. We are standing near the end of a long line for the circus at Bartle Hall. I am so young I am not excited for the circus because I don’t yet know what a circus is. I am more interested in the old woman sitting on a bench by the back of the line, wearing a yellow wool coat and a silk scarf wrapped around her hair and tied underneath her chin. I peer around my mom’s legs, staring behind her at the plastic grocery bags covering the woman’s feet, securely knotted at her ankles.
“Well…she’s homeless. The plastic keeps her feet from getting wet in the snow,” my mom answers. Continue reading