My Friend

The bamboo rod stretched across her back

Sinew, bone and muscle woven firmly into her shoulders

Enormous bamboo lily pads hanging evenly

Balanced piles of fruits and vegetables

Orbs of green and gold and red

Her eyes, shaded by her conical hat

Were shy, guarded, cast down

We were divided by culture, language, and size

 

She briefly looked up, only a glance

But then she lingered as I offered her a slight bow

Just barely tipping my head

We were women, East and West

Different soil beneath our fingernails

Separate suffering, yet much the same

A nod, barely seen

As the corners of her mouth lifted slightly

Time paused as we held the gaze

 

Walls of language, custom, and dress converged

And melted

Sugar mountains in a pouring rain

 

 

Janet Elizabeth Hartwick Sterk

 

 

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