One day I stopped by a local convenience store to pick up a couple things. She was sitting there, picking through the cracks in the sidewalk. We exchanged only a few words. She said she was wanting to go back to Alberta, to her hometown. I wished her well, went back to my car, then turned around, and dropped a $2 coin into her calloused hand. Her face and hands told a story of a hard life on the streets. This is the story I imagined.
This is also my first attempt at playing harmonica on one of my own tracks.
Cracks
copyright 2022 Steve Smith (SOCAN)
Picking through the cracks in the pavement
She curses at the demons on the floor
Trying hard to put on her best face
To the hurried people in and out the door
Seven years of marriage to the needle
Left her cold and ragged to the core
Searching for her chance at salvation
Now every night she moves from store to store
She said
“I’m trying to find my way back to my home town”
“Gonna thumb my way down highway number one”
“Those east end streets done chewed me up, and spit me out”
“Could you spare a bit of change?”
“God bless you son”
Pushing through the cracks in the pavement
That lead to her to this time and place today
A shopping cart to hold the missing pieces
Left beside the road along the way
I wonder how she ever got this desperate
I wonder who she loved along the way
Did she ever feel at peace with her own life?
Did she ever really have a place to stay?
And now I’m out of my car, walk past the sandwich board
I hear a series of notes, sung in a minor chord
She gazes up from her humming, catching me by surprise
Sees through the cracks in my armour, with her deep set eyes
And says
“I’m trying to find my way back to my home town”
“Gonna thumb my way down highway number one”
“Those east end streets done chewed me up, and spit me out”
“Could you spare a bit of change?”
“God bless you son”
She keeps falling through the cracks in the pavement