Praying Broom In Hand Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I once prayed broom in hand,
praying for the dirt not to hate me,
for nobody likes to go where I put it,
for the garbage can has a smell.
I was trying to get life to know me,
for I was hired to sweep and pray for dirt.

The onlookers thought I was a sweeper,
not even once a prayer sayer. For I wore
clothes like townsmen who work on dirt,
carrying big brooms on their shoulders.

To sweep a town is work that shelters,
the secrets of the town, for once I found
a love letter of the biggest person in the
garbage. It was not to his wife, but to the
wives of the village. They were being asked
to respect the work they do.

I shared it with a few. Conjecture they thought
it was. Only to find its truth lay in its contents.
They should have not looked for it somewhere,
for it lay there in front of them, as they held
up their hands, broom in hand. To see they were
not the men who sweep the town clean,
was way beyond them.

If we could all pray broom in hand,
and clean the floors of the world,
Life would not end with some of us,
eating out of the garbage can. This
practice has me praying broom in hand,
for men and women to join in.