Heaven Help Her

Her name is Mother.

Sun gleams in her eye

A red hijab loosely tied

Around her head -

A revelation of face

In the desert heart,

Alone – marching in sand

As the sun bares down

From above

A silent, murmuring

Prayer on her lips,

Heaven help me,

Heaven help me,

It does not seem real -

It does not be -

A mirage

To tease

A poor old

Woman

The steps of

A large ziggurat

Gleaming like it was

Built yesterday -

Why not a fountain?

A car? A phone?

The image seems

So close until she gets

There – and it gets further

And further as she goes

Sweat everywhere

Savoring a rest

Her legs sinking

Into the sand

That is everywhere

A doze – a nap

She dreams of it -

Hard, cold stones

Beneath her exhausted

Feet – her heart

Beating fast

Each one

Easier than the last

Till she gets

To the top

A sheltered altar

She slips

Gratefully into

Shadow

Kneeling

With her forehead

On the floor -

Thank you,

Thank you.