We meet by chance
at a train station as
they are dragging
two sacks of empty
plastic bottles
that they will sell
for thirteen pesos
per kilo.
We walk down the
stairs so they
can eat two
chicken meals
and drink soda.
Their concerns are
ordinary:
whether the sacks
they left
outside the
shop are safe,
what their parents
and siblings
will eat for dinner,
what time it
is.
I imagine their
burned house,
the wounds
on their mother's
feet that
won't heal,
the call that their
father is waiting
for that will
mean a job.
We tell each other
stories,
laugh,
eat,
wrap up
what is left
and hope
in the
extraordinary.
(October 7, 2009)
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