It's more like a waiting hallway, to be honest wheelchairs turned into makeshift beds huddled in corners, tiny figures of misfortune cling to life as the world outside ignores them A mom and her daughter converse quite loudly in a language I struggle to understand but the hours tick by and their pragmatic voices fill the void with at least a bit of noise I take out my crochet at some point my heart long past submitting to the pain stitch after stitch, strangers get called back and the hopes of those around me begin to sink A woman close by takes special notice her heavy eyes rest easily on my hands and with the faintest hint of a smile she simply asks what I am making Two others hear and hurry over say they've been wondering the same so I introduce them to the pattern and the colors and the curious distraction of counting I get called a wonder, a talented young woman a university student who shouldn't have to be here but who has delighted us all with her beautiful crochet and I think to myself: elsewhere this would be nothing But today, these hands have made a difference.
Discussion about this post
No posts