a night out with ruby

I met this
homeless women for a drink one night
about

seven years ago.
she was using the county
library
computers to

go on match dot com.
she called her self ruby,
although

there were no ruby slippers.
she had two green
trash bags beside her.

gloves with no fingers.
a wool hat,

three thin coats draped
around her thin
shoulders.

she was a human scarecrow out
in the cold.

she had a bowl of soup,
crushing crackers
into the steam. cold water.

she told me her favorite book
was by Charles dickens.

we talked about Robert frost,
walt Whitman. what a poem
did mean.

at the end, I asked her
in which direction she was
headed,

and she replied I can go
in any direction.

freedom like that few know,
a place
where few have been. I watched
her disappear

into the night, under
the blowing force
of snow and wind.

later, she thanked me for
a wonderful time and asked
if we should do it again.