I hold the old woman’s hand
like it is a bird
afraid to leave.
She breathes slow,
I breathe with her.
This is my job:
to remember her humanity
when the world forgets.
From A Poem A Day: Latin America
I hold the old woman’s hand
like it is a bird
afraid to leave.
She breathes slow,
I breathe with her.
This is my job:
to remember her humanity
when the world forgets.
From A Poem A Day: Latin America
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