On This Block by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

In the darkness before
dawn I wander from
my bed to see the pale
lights of the street
dipping low and a river
far away, sable and
slow. On the clean
asphalt of the avenue
where I live, all is quiet
yet when the exhausted
sun comes to begin
another day it’s so unsafe
that no ordinary stranger
should walk alone. Only
in my anonymity do I
breathe in the secrecy
of what goes on. Poverty
isn’t so easily hidden
from view. For the third
time I wear my faded
blue dress, wishing I
had something new.

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