An Aymara lady sat outside the Cathedral
In Santa Cruz; she was begging
With three children, one at her breast.
She was young, beautiful, dignified;
Sad, but not broken. She looked
Serenely indigenous in her shapely hat
And green dress. I asked her from where she came:
“Potosi.” Had her husband deserted her,
Or had he and she decided this
Was the best way to survive?
God knows, but He does not exist.
That lady existed, and was sweetly grateful
For the little money I gave.