SPIRIT

My mother cooks and cleans for them.
The men upstairs meet and pray.
Always.
I sit in the corner by the stairs
with my crutch.

Today I hear the wind -
suddenly, wild, loud.
I take my crutch, go outside
to see trees bend,
sand sweep down the street.

There is no wind outside.
I wobble back, ask my mother
why is there wind in the house?
Then come men down the stairs,
faces shining, filled with spirit,
joy, purpose.  One of them
moves my crutch,
places his hand on my crooked leg,
smiles at me.  They leave.

Now I know 
what the wind is.
I run after them
leaving my crutch
in the corner
by the stairs.


			Lucille Murphy