June 11, 2002 | 12:25 PM

There is a woman in my neighborhood who does not have a home. She walks across Harvard Avenue with fragile purpose, as though she has a sense that someone is waiting for her on the other side. She does this back and forth all day, stopping occasionally to ask those of us waiting for the T whether we can spare some change.

The woman is 150 years old but wistful as a child. She is forever clad in see through knee high hose and a little girl's skirt. She has a wild snowy nest atop her delicate skull. She is light at a feather and almost ready to blow away. She is a wounded bird, this woman. She doesn�t know where she is.

Yesterday she politely asked me for a dollar and I gave her my last five bucks. I am at a loss as to what else I can do for this woman, who I believe based on past experience volunteering in nursing homes, has Alzheimer�s� disease.

Whenever I see her something in me tares as though my heart is nothing more than a construction paper valentine. What happened to this woman? How did she start off a tiny baby and grow up into someone who can�t remember why she�s crossing the street?

Is she somebody�s mother or sister or grandma? Why isn�t her family taking care of her? Why does she have to beg in the street? Why doesn�t she have a safe place to be? I want her to have warm sheets and orange juice and crayons and crossword puzzles. I want there to be someone who loves her, who will come and take her away to where there are trees and quiet and she can cross the street any damned time back and forth if she wants without being put in harm�s way. I want someone to brush out her snow storm shock of hair until it runs down her back in a silver river.

There are so many people in this world who need care and protection. It kills me to think about it. It kills me to think most of all about children and old people who are abused or malnourished�people who can�t take care of themselves. It hurts so badly that it keeps me up at night. It�s so much easier to discuss bad eighties music and eyeshadow. I don�t know what to do. I guess you have to start with small things, like giving someone five bucks or helping out in a soup kitchen. It seems so insignificant. though.

But at least it�s something.