• Lorraine Johnson

#11 In The Midst

The lines of the tree's palm shimmered in the light

And in its shadow lay the sandy ground on which a home sat

Four, five doors graced the rectangular strip of weathered concrete

A palm-made mat, a table and a chair

And a boy dancing alone in the morning air

Flinging his legs in and out, back and forth

To a beat not heard

And a smile adorned his face

In the midst of little, the boy danced

And my eyes filled.

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