A Woman’s Table

May 13

By Alanna Anish

A woman with hope,
Placed her old handbag on the table,
She took off her mask,
And put that on the table too.
Off came the clip from her hair,
And she stood young again with her hair out.
On there she put her dreams, memories and past.
Her parent’s faith in her to get a highly paid job,
Her childhood wish to become a very famous popstar,
Her trying very hard to persuade someone to employ her,
These she put on the table.
On there she put her worn out coat,
Soaked with the rain.
Nee-Naw, Nee-Naw,
The sound of the ambulance,
Her prayers for whoever is on it,
She put that on the table.
Drip, Drip,
The sound of the broken pipe,
Her dismay for not having money to fix it,
That too went on the table.
What she did that day,
Wiping, mopping, hoovering,
On the table they went.
The scene of sick patients,
Who breathed hard, slow breaths on their beds,
She added on.

The people,
Who worked among her,
Who worked for the same purpose like her,
To challenge the virus,
As the team of ‘Secret Heroes’,
Fighters who had mops and sprays for weapons.
All who people forgot,
All who earned only little,
All who still worked even if their lives were at risk.
The Happiness,
That her job gave her a value.
The table now,
Barely visible with all the load,
Stood strong,
As the woman added more things on.