Change, do not spare us

By Lisa A. Eramo

I am intrigued by a woman
who walks the streets each sunrise,
burdened by bags, begging for bottles,
looking for ways to break even.

I watch her pass by,
turning plastic to nickles,
searching for treasures--
an old pot or pan,
some worn, weathered shoes,
a dog-eared book to settle her fears.

I imagine she hopes
that no one will see, that no one
will judge, and leave her
alone to roam on her own.

I hold her close in my mind, saying:
Change begins with a thought,
a light in the dark.
It sounds like a drone,
steady and deep.
It tastes like mint,
fresh and alive.

I imagine she dreams
that one day she'll find
an open palm of opportunity,
a new path to walk down,
a new song to sing.

Until then, we both wander
like two lonely clouds drifting change,
do not spare us.