Saturday, November 8, 2008

Homeless in America

She came with a backpack that used to be pink
And ribbons in her hair and a fresh smile to
Match her clean but stubbornly stained dress.
She was eager, friendly and foreign
She held her grandmother’s hand tightly
Until it was time to let go and be with the rest.
She was different in all the ways that mattered
And the same in all the ways that mattered
And neither of those things would ever be noticed
If they weren’t pointed out
By well meaning adults
Who don’t mean so well at all.

2 comments:

Journey of a Poet said...

"She held her grandmother’s hand tightly"

this line evoked the image in my head and I love the way words can do that. i saw her bow and i saw her hold her mother's hand, I cant wait to see more of your work.

Poetry in the Global Box said...

Thanks...I am in education and I see this little girl over and over. Truly, it will be the grandmothers who save the world.