Where light peeps at them through tiny windows,
alive with gratitude, perhaps for a sunny day –
“a washing day!”
Where wardrobes hang safely in the streets,
where dreams could be drenched by evening,
Where the monotonous sound of
“oh, but you haven’t washed the windows today”
Is drowned out on corrugated roofs, running into buckets.
No drowning in thoughts here today –
only a disposition of sunshine;
smiling, laughing, little dresses hanging
Where pearls do not lace the streets
but laughter does
Where people always smile –
did I say that already?
Forgive me; I say it again,
They smile –
Pearly teeth set against a grateful canvas of open happy faces,
greeting small hands written with the dirt of circumstance,
reaching for a small moment of cheerful colour in amused glares and welcoming stares.
Why wouldn’t you want to run through broken streets of recycled happiness?
Dancing, singing, smiling back at happy faces –
Where there is perhaps just enough for today,
Where the weight of thirty-three potatoes balances gratefully on heads,
still smiling, laughing –
She will soften them on the fire tonight, in that large pot she shares with the woman down the road who lives behind that broken blue door.
In this simple place where cardboard dreams are held up by metal frames,
where joy for children is a car made from a broken trolley –
In this place, sharing is a way of life.