A poem

People spill into the open market,

elbows collide, hands fly, sellers

relentlessly shriek at buyers

when a soft bump against my leg

veers me off the market current

and a child's small plea, "Excuse me,"

thunders exoneration for us all.

Child eyes move into me

safely, sweetly jarring a memory

that to honor another is enough

to break the inertia of indifference.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.