He hoists her to his shoulders
And carries her across the plain
Stepping over rocks and boulders
So she doesn’t have to feel the pain
Of just another step
In her worn-out shoes
Thin soled
And broken strap so loose
Making slapping noises against her feet
As they walk to Church in the African heat
Cicadas sing in the brush nearby
The sun beats down from a cloudless sky
His gruff voice hums as they walk along
The tune to some long forgotten song
Mamma would have loved it
If she could see them now
But she’s singing with the angels
In the Heavenly choir
The little girl wipes a tear from her eyes
Listens to the humming and softly sighs
Her fingers play with a coin carefully placed
In her thin dress pocket frayed to lace
She’s going to give it to the preacher
For the hungry children in the world
She embraces her father thinking
“I’m such a lucky girl!”
Bronwyn Johnson
July 2005
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