We stooped under the door
We entered into a shelter-
a barely habitable structure
with warm air, strong smell, & dirt floor.
This was her home.
She welcomed the outsiders-
with our wide eyes & light skin.
She demonstrated her work.
We watched her grind the coconut-
with power & grace.
She was strength & she was diligence.
I couldn’t take my eyes away,
I couldn’t stop looking at her hands-
hands of power & grace,
working to make her commodity-
coconut oil “to keep skin beautiful.”
She sold beauty in a bottle,
and her shirt was tied together
just for the sake of modesty.
I looked around her home- walls, tin, & dirt.
I took in her work- the sweat & strength of her hands.
I cried as I came face to face with the life of an elderly woman,
selling beauty in a bottle.
If only I could bottle up her hands,
her beautiful hands.
