I saw her again today. The young woman of India-Indian descent. And, I think, her dad – or someone she knows. He has a gentle smile and looks fragile. I’d been thinking of doing a poem with a common last line thread of “By the Grace of God go I”.
Might as well start it.
I think I’ll call this one “By the Grace of God Go I”
I’m standing at the corner
And there’s a girl over yonder
Who’s talking to herself, occasionally a laugh, not a holler
A woman next to me
Decides to talk of what she sees
As the potential lowering down of the neighbourhood
I wonder what she would
If she knew I was also mentally ill?
But she can’t tell, because I present well
Waiting for the Eastbound bus like her, standing still?
I look again across at the girl over yonder
And I ponder
By the Grace of God Go I…