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  • She is a wisp of a girl
    with an errant tooth and a crook'd' smile,
    always leading with small scuffling steps
    along the corridors of the "Underground "
    tracing the lines of propaganda
    that defines the Dragon.
    Shifting into timelessness, unaware of time.
    She continues to sew, layer upon layer of discarded fabric
    that becomes a silhouette of hope
    made desperate by the sheer magnitude
    needed to provide a better life.
    Offering her wares to any passing stranger
    but she knows me; one eye having met mine in passing
    while I commit to the daily toil.
    As I pass she offers nothing except a small gesture of reconnection.
    We are both at home along the ceramic walls
    much like dirt noticeable in the cracks we are permanently etched.
    Allied as the tracks of the train our lives parallel only in one direction
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