YOUR BLACK BRAIDS NEATLY DRAPED – December 2009

Your black braids neatly draped 

You sit attentive 

On the white plastic bucket 

In the sheet metal shade. 

You love your family, I can tell.

You sit so still, back to,

In the lee of the

Blazing desert sun.

I worry in that instant

Through the cactus, from the road,

What will happen to your soul.

I cannot see your face

But I see enough.

Your house has no door.

The wind blows through

The slats of recycled wood

That suggest a wall

Together with tattered fabric

And a flapping green tarp.

I love you in that moment

As I imagine your brown eyes

Swell as you absorb

The love around you.

But I see the desperation

Of those who sit, staring

Into the highway,

A portrait of helplessness.

You are young, perhaps eight?

And you cannot see beyond

Your mother’s arms

And your father’s smile.

Yet, perhaps you will escape

Perhaps your will can

Carry you into an unlikely spot

Where the improbability of the future

Can fertilize your life

And we can watch you prosper.