the kindness of strangers
in the
London underground, two women
limp, side by side on the
escalator, halted by its
mechanical
hand. are you hurt? one asks, a
flicker of grin, a shared plight. no just
tired
oh and my thigh. a golden accent, the
stunning perfection of the consonants
of a southern continent. life is tiring. yes
she says but we do not want to die. yes we
want to see our
children grown. yes, and our grandchildren. slow steps, breathing almost in
sync, the climb, and through the airy
space, the mechanical fingers on the wheel again, down into
the grind, whisking away this random moment that has placed us here, a few
shared seconds of life, but only until the machine
starts rolling. good luck to you, and - to you too!- here is to the child you have so
been wanting, to those twenty
years, to what keeps us here.
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