Written by Peter Edler   

Freedom

America, the found, lost
in the thirties, in the streets and alleys
of poverty and desperation where once you sat
your back against a brick wall
tawdry amid the squalor
broke and lost and free.

I saw you sitting there, not begging, not selling
apples for a nickel each, your thin dress like a robe
your knees drawn up, head bowed
unbeatable because you had been beaten
inviolable because you had been violated,
free because you were.

I might have spoken to you
but didn't dare to touch the veil hiding
that which America had created
a fleeting glimpse of freedom
before the pestle came down and slowly
slowly ground it all to dust
you pursed your lips, blew it away.