A woman walks down the street.
It does not matter her name,
the color of her hair, her age,
or how she votes. What matters
is if you would go help her rise
when she trips and twists her ankle.
What matters is if you look openly
into her eyes when she is seeking yours.
What matters is if you see how she,
like you, is holding onto something dead
and has not quite yet managed to let
it go. There are cultures where people
greet each other, strangers and lovers,
by saying, I am the other you.
What matters is if, when you see the woman
walking on the street, you believe this is true.
Ah, the title is Mayan, not Scandinavian like I guessed. But it works that it’s foreign to the English reader. What’s the most interesting (and bit vague) to me is the fifth set of lines. I think I see the point by the end, that “when you see the woman…you believe” because otherwise you might not help when the occasion arises, as it does at the beginning of the poem. That by seeing ourselves in others we help ourselves? Perhaps I’m reaching…
Oh you got it perfectly! I didn’t know the reach was there … Oh the troubles of knowing too much when you write the poem r