She sat by the roadside head bent low.
At the sound of footsteps, her eager hand darts out.
She doesn’t raise her eyes.
Tightly curled knots form a tight cap
That snugly fits the dome of her head.
The timeless hiss of fat tyres
Forms the background symphony of her day,
Still her head bends low.
As the hiss fades and the steady crunch of a step is heard,
She looks up,
Vacuous eyes staring unseeing at the thick blanket of darkness.
The startling blue of the African skies
Doesn’t soften the thick blanket folded across her eyes.
She doesn’t blink.
Slowly her head drops to her chest
Her hand creeps back to its fold.
One more moment has passed…
Is there anybody there?
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