by Karen Jakubowski

She shuffles hunchbacked.
Gray tresses peek from her babushka,
head bowed
each step a prayer. Cornflower cardigan
worn even on mercury elevated days.

She travels homeward
from the village. Stoops, burden
carried like a cross.
Winding miles along suburban lane,
hails drift across dandelion dusted yards.

She lugs plastic sacks.
Supper: a tomato, canned sardines
day old bread.
Graciously feeds the multitude
mewing tails curl round thick ankles.

She journeys daily.
So many pass her by, no
beads worried
on her behalf. Mercy shrouds me.
Grinning, Mary accepts my ride.

Karen Jakubowski is a native New Yorker. She is married, a mother of two, juggles family and a career. In her spare time she is an avid reader and a part time poet. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming on Houseboat, Poetry Breakfast, Vox Poetica, First Literary Review-East, and The Barefoot Review.