Remember how Lowlah slept
With every father yet woke up alone,
Still an orphan,
Caught between saying “sorry”
And “thank you for everything”
In a time when women
Could only swim the waters
For they could not walk the streets naked
Even in a season for tanning the skin.
She stayed up until she could,
And slept until her eyes could still close
In a place with rooms and beds
But could not be called home –
Nursing a dying man back to health
For him to speak his last words
In his wife’s bed.
When she was young,
She danced on tables
Only to realize
She could not be a dancer
For she was not taught the steps,
The timing,
The grace.
She was told a mute lady
Could never learn.
But she never cried,
For it would be grieving
The same pain twice.
Now, she serves herself,
Unfound on the menu,
But the only dish in mean’s swirling minds.
And every time she leaves
When night wears her feet
And drags her away,
I feel homesick in a home
Far from the pillars of her untold tales.
