Nightly Prayer

I saw her on the bus tonight. Silently searching for a moment of peace, weary from the day. Tomorrow she will rest, hopefully. The night air circles 'round her hair. Golden, un-natural against the ebony blackness of her skin. Stiff, straight, tamed as her life cannot be. The tide is constantly against her: this island in a sea of tumult. She reads from Isaiah. Words float in her mind, and respite comes, heralded by he who cried in wilderness. The night air circles and her eyes close silently in Prayer.