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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I had very little in common with the strangers I met on Clark street. Where I grew up, in one respect, there were people similar to those I once met on Clark Street. They partied hardy and heavily. Their drugs of choice were alcohol and wine, not narcotics. They abused others and were themselves abused, but the similarities end there because there was more intimacy with those I grew up with. They were neithbors and loyal friends of my parents. Whereever you are or were or will someday be, perhaps there is a Clark street. Perhaps you too choose not to be like the people I met many years ago. Fact is, they did not like the way they were. This reflection of my Clark Street experience, makes it clear that I was not one on them, but they are a part of me. They have followed me for nearly 50 years. I sat at the cafe table talking with them on late nights in the late 60's, but it's unlikely that they remember me. On this quiet April night, I am reminded of them and the comparative flash of time I spent with them. An older friend who taught me much about Clark Street described it as a cave into which many went but few ever came out. The frangrance of seemingly hopelessness that rose through the atmosphere on Clark Street attached itself to my memory. Over the years I have thought of them, but tonight's reflection became more than a passing thought. I have much preferred to forget many things, but this is not one of them. The memory of the mission that we were on and the sound of 60's music, engender a delightful satisfaction. Where is Clark Street? It is inside of me where it has been percolating in my psyche for decades, and I am proud to have it so. Wish there were more, but there was at least one who left Clark Street never to return. Heroin had ruined her life for many years, but at 52, she waved goodbye to Clark Street for the last time. She allowed God to fill her life, and she spent the rest of her life giving it away to women of similar backgrounds. 04292018cj
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