My wrists grow sore
bearing my weight
everyday
a bicycle wheel
spun into motion
A woman of the Greeks
a prominent nose
an uncompromising chin
the blacks of a widow
She straddles the footpath
with her waddling footsteps
As I stop to let her through
she lifts her hand
drags a cross
in the air
in my face
And I am left
to wonder:
do I feel
blessed
or oppressed?
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