Lady Brave by Swahdi R.T.

A cracked ceramic cup
of quickly cooling coffee
on a dirty, tiled tabletop
in need of a good wipe
sat next to a small purse
— 20 dollars and a pamphlet—
of one who sat alone,
in this grim, low-budget shop,

as outside, the rain kept coming,
like the waves of vague depression,
sliding down the windows
as if desperate to get in;
And she sat there, frail woman,
‘midst bits of ripped up kleenex
with her head held in one hand
and an ache that would not leave.

She was not so much a woman
as a girl too quickly growing,
with a youthful face,
weary and weathered down by tears.
No place to go, no money,
no love but that she had,
and a burden, far too heavy,
no girl should have to hold.

And she seemed alone, but wasn’t,
for the test showed positive,
and inside her, every second,
a little life evolved.
With a jackass of a father,
and no knowledge of the strength
his mother dear kept hidden,
the little life grew on.

So she sighed and sipped her coffee
from the cracked, ceramic cup,
and stood up with a deep breath
and fire in her eyes.
And she left the shop a fighter,
a survivor,
Lady Brave!
Abandoned, but a woman
with an unborn, baby child.

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