Walking home from Church,
Jakarta, Indonesia

I could still hear the singing
that reminds me of butterflies-
rising on the delicate colors
of hope and humble praise

when I teased out
the sweet thread of jasmine
from the rough woven cloth
of hard living

worn by the man
selling hot steamed mussels
and clacking his stick
against the cart.

He passed as I turned
to wonder in sighs
at the child’s red sandal
in the muck-water roadside ditch.

c. MperiodPress