Hope is not

Just a four letter word

That people throw up in the air

And pray it crashes right

Back down.

 

It begins with her.

When you look at her 

head covered in hair like feathers,

her squinty eyes hidden by

sunglasses that cover all her face,

I know you won't see why. 

 

It starts with her heart. The 

skip-

ping beats

that draw

us close.

 

But not enough to touch.

 

She is

An Un

Ed U

Cate Ted

Im A

Grant.

No School.

No Life.

A bum.

 

Her hands finish the story,

Where her heart won't go on.

Withered and wrinkled 

Because she knew field work

And the cost plants have without water

Or the quenching parts of her soul.

Smooth and scarred

Because people threw at her

wages of sticks and stones,

Not words,

When she tried to be anything human.

Crooked and long

Because money was and asset

she could never keep

If it meant giving her daughter college, 

She never had, but so deserved.

Beautiful and Tiny

Because words her husband 

Threw out for punches

The day they were arranged and chained

Finally grew out of divorce papers

 

If you ask her how

She cut thew it all

She'll only give you a phrase.

My daughter's name means Peace.

 

 

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