Her head hung low, her eyes sunk back, too tired
to greet her own son. His dad had retired
After hours of dragging coffee bags
across potholes of promises. Three bags
Were lost to the weather, two to thieves and
several others just fell through his hand.
She noticed. That night she knelt and prayed for
the simple things: good roads, lights on her door,
Books for her child, and salt for her kumu
—perhaps, a spade to dig pits for mumu.
She boiled noodles for her wide-eyed son, and
roasted sweet potatoes for her husband.
They get to eat meat during elections
with a pot belly of politicians.
enda'ando – an old woman
kumu – greens
mumu – earth oven