Daughter of Slovakia

She wore a bright
blue apron and
faded red
handkerchief
in her hair.
She fed the chickens
on a dusty field
outside Bratislava.
As the hot sun
beat down upon
her, she wiped
her brow.
She walked to the
village every day to
buy a fresh loaf
of bread to feed
her family.
In the evening, she
drank plum brandy
and danced to
jubilant folk
music with her
husband.
The lines around
her eyes creased
when she smiled.
She laughed a
hearty laugh.
Her eyes twinkled
with mischief and
with unspoken
dreams.

Kimberly Madura is a writer, essayist, and social worker. Originally from Indiana, she currently writes from a cabin in the woods of Vermont.