There is a woman here.
She walks.
All day she walks.
Setting out on the same road
every morning
a small bag on her narrow back
jeans
barely a pound covering her bird bones
Forward she moves
carrying herself through
whatever pain that outweighs her pack
by a lifetime.
There is a woman
01 Saturday Feb 2014
Posted in pain, poems, poetry, Uncategorized
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 
I’ve seen this woman. She’s heart breakingly fascinating.
I feel her pain. And I know what it is to walk all day.
I smile and my heart aches whenever I see her, understanding the fortitude to face life head on. She’s working something through with every step. I cheer her on, silently, as I pass.