Grace.
A lilt of music circles the sweat-driven air.
An invisible note,
A silent whisper touches the ear.
I look up.
It curls around a variety of heads, oil-plastered, greasy curls,
Grimy, toiling hands, shuffling feet.
Through the dancing dust - a glimmer of Red.
Anklets.
She sways to her own tune, the beat hidden in her head.
I feel the sound. I hear the voiceless voice.
She lifts another load onto her head
And as she walks away, she leaves behind
The music she chooses her life to be.
Grace taught me that day
How to sing.