She Waits For Me

(The Beggar Woman)

The morning has barely broken, yet mourning screams silently from below.  She waits for me.  I wrest myself from restful bliss to a world rife with strife.  She waits for me.  I shower in streams of warmth.  This warmth is selfish; it does not extend beyond extremities, and it does not reach the extremes.  She waits for me.  My babies sleep, and so does hers — how different the dreams.  She waits for me.  I choose not to eat for the sake of time, measured in calories.  She does not eat, forsaken by time, measured in days.  She waits for me. My wardrobe is marked by choice, selected for nature. She wars with her robe, without the weapon of choice, and unnaturally adorned.  She waits for me.  The door opens to the hallway and I descend the many steps to the gate.  Her life is lived without doors, without privacy, and yet gated and locked all the same.  She waits for me.  She waits, and waits, and waits for me, outside the gate, upon the curb, in morning and in mourning, her daughter shouldered, clothed in drab — a nightmarish state without food or choice, or water’s warmth.  She waits for me.  

She waits for me — for 100 LE.


Norris Ham

(High School Principal)