a woman with quiet eyes told me 

about the sunsets over the Atlas Mountains.

 

She said she hid her books in a desk  

by a stove, so her visitors did not see 

what she read.

 

It was not that she feared their judgment, only 

that they might know her heart.

 

She took no words for granted.

Telling me she would say my name once everyday 

as she cooked her meal.



© Karen Karpowich

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