Anuja Ghimire
Divine Hotline
I did not have an answer for my daughter
Why did we have cash for cauliflower and cans
But not for the man with the sign?
He was old and tall, thinner than the bills he sought
Refused at every stop; heads that remained down
"He could work," a girl with strawberry lips whispered
Then, I found his index finger pointing
To the sky, his eyes, and mine
The triangle he made was lightning,
Jagged like a divine hotline
When my daughter gave him the change I held
He crossed his arms, chin up, mouthing
God loves you
Bio
Anuja Ghimire is from Kathmandu. Her poetry is published in Riverlit, Glass, Clay, Ishaan Literary Review, Zest, Right Hand Pointing, Stone Path Review, and Constellations . She lives in Dallas.