aloof magisterials
or merely stilted listlessness?

fear and pain, etched on theses faces

a woman, congenitally defective
hands and feet
gnarled, open toed shoes
asks for help, painfully

a chirping child
in a long line over my left shoulder

tapping feet
hushed conversations
crisp shirts
dirty blue jeans

and I was wonder
what has brought me to this place of suffering?

a smile or a nod
gratefully received

what if this same awareness
and stillness were carried into the day

what might happen?
and then

"all rise" 


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