I want to take her photograph ... I want to steal her bag and take time sifting through the contents: How did she become this way? Where did these belongings come from? Why are they of enough sentiment to her (tethered to a better time?) ... so she wrestles and tears through them, agitatedly?
Hopeful still, she wakes each day ... maybe prays, finds some comfort, a warm cup of dignity ...
I steal her soul ... but it's not exploitation.
|"Do Something", ©Jeff Glovsky|