Finally there are enough people to hug!
A room of two-year-olds with raised arms…
we swing them into the air,
their grins are windows
in a city of crumbling walls.
One girl stays in the corner
crouched over her shoes.
Hard to keep shoes in this world,
people steal them, they walk away.
Her flaming hair is a house
she lives in all alone.
When I touch it she looks up,
suspicious, then lifts
a stub of chalk from her shoe.
Makes three jagged lines on the floor.
Can I read? I nod rapidly,
imagining love me, love me, yes,
but she is too alone to believe it.
Her face closes, I will never guess.

Calcutta