One evening we walked a hundred meters or so up our narrow, dirt lane

And climbed three sets of stairs, painted green. We went

Up, up, up past low doorways where women sold their bodies on repeat

At enormous cost to themselves–but for very little change

~~~~

I remember breathing hard because of closed doors, muffled sounds

As I thought of faces that waited outside for business every day

But at the top stood our friend who gladly waved us in

And with a shy but happy smile, she introduced her home

Small room, large wooden bed, a burner, aluminum pots

Clothing for a family of four with everything in its place

And delicious smells floating–while her beloved pet birds sang  

~~~~

But this regal woman was not caged up like her birds

From a life that with no choice began, she was flying free

With women like herself instead she was sewing beautiful things

Uncovering freedom and hope and respect from others

–And choice and dignity

~~~~

She served us curry, rice and dahl

Scooping up nourishment, flavored with love

A celebration of her daughter’s birthday, one more year

In a life that included radical things, like education and enough food

And a freedom as a young woman–that her mother never knew

~~~~

This scene, forever frozen in my heart and in my mind

Because while I have feasted on crystal

Tables precisely covered in linen

My water refilled with every sip

While rubbing shoulders with the mighty  

I have never felt more honoured by an invitation than this

Into that humble home, invited in friendship–by her

~~~~~

 —-This very personal poem was difficult to write. It is a memory so precious that I wanted to do it justice. I have also realised that while during those years there we focused on hope, partly because we saw good things happening and partly for our own mental wellbeing, I still have many choked back tears over things that we saw as well. A number of them got to slide down my face as this poem developed.

©Heather Pound 2021