This entry is part 15 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2014-15


“My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle and come to their end without hope.” ~ Job 7:6

Today as we lingered in the commons, a lady crossed the hall and came to sit and chat. Thank you for your family’s help with the charity dinner, she said; every little bit goes such a long way. The orphanage now has a clinic, and the school is doing well. There are more teachers, there are plans for a plumbing system though it will take a year or two. We are going to visit this spring, and again before the end of year. Only when we come face to face with the poor do we see ourselves for what we really are. She said she too was raised in an orphanage. You would not know from her careful speech, her aristocratic bearing. And then she took up both our hands in hers and kissed us on each cheek. I caught the faintest smell, like marigolds. Before she disappeared into the rectory she adjusted the flowers in the vase by the double doors, pinching off the droopy heads and bearing them away.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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