In the world these days.
But here I find myself in the quiet.
Unpacking a shipment
of new bags from Mapendo and Argentine.
I unfold each bag slowly, feeling the cloth in my hands.
tracing the stitches made just slightly uneven, by a hand-peddled sewing machine.
My heart rests for just a minute.
Soon I will go out in the world again.
But first I peer inside the darkness of each bag,
and look for what I know I will find.
White dust on black cloth,
The line of chalk that Argentine drew.
The path her scissors followed.
I let my fingers trace that path.
It is not enough.
Selling these bags.
Argentine and Mapendo are only 2 refugees.
But I know their names.
So I fold each bag carefully
and am thankful for the chalkdust that rubs off on my hands.