Sitting in a street in Mexico City
half-hidden in the darkness
an old woman cradles an infant to her breast.
Her gnarled hand rests in the folds of her dress.
A man stops.
Her arm rises.
He drops a few coins into her hand.
Only a shadow of recognition is returned.
The man walks on.
Over and over
the image of the old woman returns
and he asks why
but his intellect fails
for he never realizes
that for a brief moment
he was one
with the woman
sitting in the street.
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