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 |   A poem a week for a year. |
| Anonymous Benefactor Moved by sudden impulse, we left the tropical heat and dust of savannah life, to wind back the years to the island of my birth, the place known as home, as it was to me, who had never settled in the African sun, rootless and yearning for I knew not what. But home it was and became, accepting me with open arms and cold and rain and snow, land of my people, loved already for they echoed my inwardness and quiet. To my family’s town we drifted, looking for a place to stay, and fate led us to my grandmother’s house where, for a time, we stayed to watch over her declining months. Yet funds were low and work was scarce, until a day when a letter arrived, postmarked London, though we knew no one there, and, upon opening it discovered a banker’s draft for just enough to carry us through. No name was attached and, to this day, we know not why or who and how it should be, but I suspect that, somewhere in that vast metropolis God moved His servant to order the draft, addressing it then to us, strangers from a strange land that he or she never knew, the address, no doubt, being culled from some phonebook kept in heaven for emergencies. Line Count: 44 Free Verse For Promptly Poetry, Week 14 2020 Prompt: A day someone surprised you with kindness. |
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