She walked towards us dressed in rags
with rain crawling into her tight-shut eyes
and sliding down her back.
Smells of tobacco smoke and electricity
clung wetly to her skin.

Her arms lift up to the ceiling
and she throws back her head to laugh.
It is a laugh which we do not understand
for she is half-naked.
She is hungry.
She has no family,
no home.

The laughter reaches arms around us,
Pulling us in and inviting us to listen.
This laughter;
this laughter which we barely recognize
as joy.

As we stand beside our cars
wrapped in our warm jackets
with wallets in our pockets filled
with pictures of our families;
we long to shed our clothes,
lift our arms up to the ceiling
and feel the rain streaming down our backs.

But we cannot bring ourselves
to abandon everything
and laugh.

As her laughter dies,
(the echoes live on)
she lowers her head
(we cannot escape her face).

Tight-shut eyes open wide to challenge the world.
Her eyes say, smiling;

"Go on, I dare you."
"I dare you to open yours."