Hourly we see the signs and statistics, daily and nightly, more than we need to and not as often as we should.
   We only see pieces, but never the complete picture.
   In an article a few months ago, the Toronto Star reported “an unrelenting increase in homelessness.” In one year, as of August, the number of actively homeless people in Toronto went from 8,479 to 9,724.
   More or less, at last count, give or take. The numbers are an underestimation of the crisis. Shocking and convenient, but how accurate can the assessment of an impermanent and transient population be?
   We see the problems daily, but not solutions. The politics of poverty hold much of the blame, but not the sole responsibility, and we see only pieces of the puzzle that don’t fit.
   There are social agencies, non-profit charities and church groups doing their damndest to stuff a finger in the dike. Lack of social housing, mental health issues some of us will never know (but we will know of), drug and alcohol addiction, and violence, all contribute to the flood they are facing.
   Our government, provincially, has confused homelessness with housing and its plans and promises going forward contain no real hope for unhoused, the unhealthy or the unholy, all out of luck, out of time, but never out of eyesight.
   On top of everything, inflation is climbing and the COVID-19 pandemic aftermath continues, as certain as it exists.
   Toronto’s shelter system, emergency or otherwise, is stretched to capacity. Nightly, as winter continues to come, the wicked winds leave little room for even the brave inside. Outside of overflowing shelters, the bold struggle to find a place in all-night coffee shops, cardboard upon cold concrete of tenement steps, or in tent cities that continue in city parks..
   It is a puzzle indeed, and not a pretty picture.
   Charity is a start, but it is never enough.
   Humanity hinders as often as it heals.
   How can we care for each other?
   Most of us have something to give, many of us have more than we ask for, while some of us can only ask because there is nothing left to give and even less to live for.
   This is the emotional ground that we walk on: daily, nightly, hourly.
   An incomplete puzzle, do we only see the pieces we want to see?
   Do we shield our eyes from that which makes us uncomfortable?
   Can we not consider the comfort of others?

© 2022 j.g. lewis