Brown feet, caked with brown mud... so unsure across the white tile. You looked at me through the window, motioned with your hands pressed to your mouth. What do you want sweet girl? Money? Food?
So many questions enter my mind... Where are your parents? Where are your shoes? Who is that man with his arm around you? Is he friendly? Does he love you? Are you safe?
I can't give you money, but I can give you ice cream. Come inside. Yes, inside... with me. You walked with me to the counter... and in less than five seconds had your ice cream picked. Have you tasted this before? Were you just desperate to get out? Have you been staring at the window looking and imagining its flavor? Eight years old. Beautiful smile. So small. What did they say to you as they gave you the treat? Did they tease you? Were you embarrassed? I wanted to fight for you, but I couldn't. Maybe my presence was enough.
You walked outside... your friend? Yes, she can come in too. Nine years old. Same unsure brown feet. Same beautiful smile.
"Thank you auntie".
And then you left, taking a small piece of my heart with you. Who is going to hold you tonight? Did that make you feel better? Are you safe? Why are you on the street? Who loves you? I want to....
I wish I knew your language. I wish I knew your story. But for ten minutes, your life was intersected with mine. I walked away changed. Did you walk away better? Did your ache go away? Even for a little bit? When will the world become so harsh that your smile is gone?
Jesus, give her what I can't. Please.
Why is it the dirtiest children are always the most beautiful?
So many questions enter my mind... Where are your parents? Where are your shoes? Who is that man with his arm around you? Is he friendly? Does he love you? Are you safe?
I can't give you money, but I can give you ice cream. Come inside. Yes, inside... with me. You walked with me to the counter... and in less than five seconds had your ice cream picked. Have you tasted this before? Were you just desperate to get out? Have you been staring at the window looking and imagining its flavor? Eight years old. Beautiful smile. So small. What did they say to you as they gave you the treat? Did they tease you? Were you embarrassed? I wanted to fight for you, but I couldn't. Maybe my presence was enough.
You walked outside... your friend? Yes, she can come in too. Nine years old. Same unsure brown feet. Same beautiful smile.
"Thank you auntie".
And then you left, taking a small piece of my heart with you. Who is going to hold you tonight? Did that make you feel better? Are you safe? Why are you on the street? Who loves you? I want to....
I wish I knew your language. I wish I knew your story. But for ten minutes, your life was intersected with mine. I walked away changed. Did you walk away better? Did your ache go away? Even for a little bit? When will the world become so harsh that your smile is gone?
Jesus, give her what I can't. Please.
Why is it the dirtiest children are always the most beautiful?
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