She sits there selling bangles 
Set up in a wicker basket 
Some laid down on the grass
Every now and then she gently 
Sweeps off the dust that spreads thinly
From teeming feet that hurry past
Barely slowing near the woman 
Sitting on her haunches hoping 
For someone to slow down, to pause 
Her concave belly almost touching 
The basket that is tugging 
The life blood from her womb 
Every time that she moves 
Spilling it in little driblets 
Onto its precious load

The maternal bond of glass and blood
Unremitting, never enough 
As she sits car-caressing 
Sometimes fretting, sometimes fussing
Rearranging, caring, loving
Always loving, always loving
A tender smile hov-hovering 
Around her tired mouth
She is umbilical-corded 
To her treasures 
Resting in their bed of wicker
Willing them to cleave their way 
Into the hearts of passersby 
Willing them to shine so bright 
That it brings tears to her eyes 
The boundless world of plenty
In those bangles by her side

Behind her lie two little heads 
Heat-numbed and stupefied 
Little thumbs in little mouths
Doing their best to pacify
The endless hunger in their bellies 
Matured and rarefied 
Over lifetimes spent behind 
Their mother as she hums 
Little songs of gentle rain 
On golden fields of wheat and rye
Watching their little sisters 
Take all their mother’s time 
Resting in their basket
They tinkle and they wink
They watch their little sisters 
Gleaming, laughing in delight 
Suckling on the joyfulness 
That streams from their mother’s eyes.