Solidarity

Every night a woman, at least as old

as my mother, with a walk labored like

my grandmother’s last steps;

enters my office to clean.

Tonight is our last night in the building.

She and I talk like old friends parting ways

for the last time or new friends leaving

each other for the first.

She utters a few words to me in her

smiling Spanish & English. My tongue searches

for the right response in my troubled Spanish.

We both laugh sifting

through the things our employer

has instructed me to discard.

We both laugh knowing

She finds a small black pouch

big enough to hold a month’s pay

in her bosom. She shows me the pouch;

mimes how she will hide it

from the night’s hungry hands.

She put her hand on her chest

says “El Salvador”, I tell her I am

from DC, “Anacostia” I say.

she nods. she knows;

we both have learned to live

well off what others abandon.