Bitter Anguish Of A Mother (Teardrops In The Dusty Street) Poem by Elizabeth Sheaffer

She sat beneath the glow of a lonely streetlamp,
Her eyes full of fear, hair matted and damp.
She glanced around and saw me, instantly bolting.
Her clothes flew around her. ('She's like a bird molting.')
She fled down the street until she reached the next light,
Then sat down again, body rigid and tight.
I watched her closely, intrigued by this girl.
Watching her take out a paper and unfurl
It. (What in the world is she doing out alone?
Shouldn't this young girl be at her home?)
Creeping up closer, trying not to scare her;
Staring down in her lap at the old yellow paper.
Here was the girl, her face strong and young;
Here was her baby, sticking out its tongue.
The girl stared in raptures at the picture,
Like a devout Christian studying a scripture.
Slowly the girl started crying, burying her face
In her dirty coat, so out of place
In this industrial garden, concrete oasis.
Here among corporate pawns with tight, drawn faces.
Her tears mingled with the dust upon her clothing.
Had a businessman seen her, he'd have looked on with loathing.
A young girl in the street, her heart filled with strife
For her tiny little infant who had lost its short life.