Everyday, at 6 a.m. she leaves her house from her warm bed.
She sets up a stand outside the metro
Selling little items you might need on the go.
Chewing gum, chocolate bars, newspapers too,
But one other item you need but never knew.
She uncovers the box from the plastic shield,
Inside are fried treats, the kind a true baker might yield.
She takes out the powdered sugar, as white as can be
And sprinkles it atop in rounds two, maybe three.
Why she caught my eye,
It’s a funny reason why.
Her hair is bright red and curly,
Visibly seen at a time of day so early.
The color matches the treats before she powders them sweet
And I think to myself, “Is her red color masking the years that earned white underneath?”
Mary Gabis