She waits

She waits

on the edges

always on the edges

feigning indifference

but eyes reveal

a muffled hope

even after a broken life

of small things and poverty

of children taken away

of days of sitting in the grimy dark

of a ramshackle house

of a husband’s violent hand

of a life petering out in its youth

even so

she waits

to be noticed

to be invited in

to be wanted

to be special

to be important.

Her prayers are simple

childlike

pouring out the pain

of her stolen children.

And yet I can see

compassion incarnate

stroking her roughened cheek

touching her greasy hair

gazing at her tentative toothless  smile

her gaudy, ill-fitting clothes

He knows what could have been

He knows what is now

and so

the Great Inviter

beckons her

into a new future.

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