Flood. Old age. Hunger. These are not distant pictures. They are people still waiting for one kind hand.
She covered her mouth so the crying would not fill the empty houseA father carrying his daughter through the floodThe water went down. The grief did not
An elder’s tears are a whole life asking not to be forgottenShe wiped her eyes with the only cloth she had leftA child’s tear is a whole morning that should have been kinderAn old man on the pavement, asking the day to be gentlerA whole village walking through a river, carrying what they could saveHe lifted the last box of home above the waterWhen the house is gone, they still try to save what livesA street that became a river, and people who still had to walk itWhen the road is gone, a small boat is the only way homeA mother holding her baby above the floodA woman and infant on a raft of bambooTwo children waiting on a crate after the water roseA father carrying his child through the flood laneVolunteers carrying food through chest-deep waterFamilies walking rice and bags through the waterSisters walking the shoreline after their home was lostA tailor sitting with the machine that still feeds his familyPoverty is a room with almost nothing, and a person still sitting in itAn old man on the pavement, waiting for the day to be kinderA woman waiting for one kind decisionAn elder sitting with the day, and with memoryA hand that helps her stand againA hand held so an elder does not feel left behindWaiting, with quiet courage, for someone to arriveEvery slow step deserves a steady companionLooking out, still hoping the day will be kinder
