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Poem

A stretch at the train station before leaving France, listening to languages I don’t understand, catching a word or two, I sit in silence and people watch as you catch my eye bringing mother in from the rain, searching for a spot to leave her securely as security postures you to be on your way, yet mother is old, skin paper thin, so she can stay, and you leave her with me as we speak through the eyes and a nod of our heads, then she wanders away and I watch from my seat as she hangs damp clothes on rails, then can’t find her way to where she left her bag near her seat, so I go get her.  And she wants to thank me.  Wants to thank me with food.  And I can’t refuse.

A simple sweet roll
Shared by one who has little
Was I fed by God?

Maggie

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