The Old Women In The Village Where I Live Poem by RIC BASTASA

The old women
at 4: 58 dawn are
in the streets
again

with lighted
lamps on their
hands

they walk the
cold pavements

and chant
their old prayers

round and round
the kiosk

until the first
morning light

arrives warming
their

wilting hands
the furrows on

their foreheads
their worn cheeks

and slowly like
turtles

they converge
inside an empty

chapel of this
quiet village

where i write
where i live.