Dust

“I am overwhelmed by the grace

and persistence of my people.”

--Maya Angelou

She never was a girl,

This woman standing tall with

A hardness in her smile when she lets it show

Wrapping herself with barefoot splendor

In the pre-dawn light of another long day.

She bears the weight of her world:

Been toting water since she was four

Been walking scared in the dark while spirits

And the shadows of men follow her down forest paths

Fear singing in the back of her throat.

But this woman, she still dances in the dust.

“Dieu merci” she says and laughs—oh she laughs

She knows what it’s about, life, this crazy dance.

She knows the bittersweet taste of it and what it means

For her children: her girls who have never been girls

Her boys who may never be men.

She knows and she gives back all she can of grace

She knows and she gives it back, this woman

Laboring in the dust, these women dark and precious

Singing their hopes to the African dawn

At the birth of another long day.