“Maria”
For nearly a year you and I have worked
in the same polygon hallway,
me cleaning up emotional debris and
decorating,
you scrubbing down the toiletbowls we refuse to flush
and smiling.
Even though I call myself an activist
the only things I know about you are
your first name, the color of your iPod,
and that for two months you used your lunch breaks to
knit 30 pairs of delicate white
baby booties.
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