and my grandchildren will have shoes.

written sketches of my afternoon session in Cyeza Village to be used for later blank canvas'


a beautiful lady.
blue striped blouse with collar.
fabric of yellow, maroon, ocean with dry desert color.
head wrap once white, now dirtied by years of pain
through a genocide.
through loss of husband.
contemplative. observant.
brown. cafe' eyes. lips creased.
years. days. moments.
gunshots of 1994. near and I can only imagine.
children. five of them.
wealthy by title but no. not by other standards.
uses a well. a free source for the community.
clean this well on Wednesdays because children dirty it.
once young. I wonder what she was like.
I wonder who she loved. how she feel deeply in love with him.
oh to ponder over the history of romance by observing her wrinkles.
Who were her parents and how young when they left to rest with the higher one.
sacred beliefs. shared from you to me to him.
her mother.
I imagine: dark. a ruby hued undertone. as this woman's here.
and this lady. left to tell. must be of 50 or 60 years.
I only want to sketch through words.
I'd paint her.
I'd stare straight into her soul if I could.
were you raped? stabbed?
crying hysterically as he passed?
and how? how can this be dealt with.
how does one cope with such deep pain... pain building for centuries.
"I'm old, weak."
my dear, you are STRONG.
you have walked the dirt roads wearing down your soles.
until stained with hours of toil before golden sun burning and darkening evermore.
Teal cement. Red trimmed and painting walls. Broken up by history. Cracking still.
and this may be all.
but inspired yet again by a broken soul near.