She walks slower now,
The woman is not weak,
People rush past her,
Without wanting to look.
She once ran,
To broken doors,
To fists clenched in rage,
To trembling bodies who whispered,
“ Forgive me …”
Now—
She knocks softly.
She waits longer.
She holds a cane like a badge,
And time like a shawl
Woven with all the names-
Who needed her but never called her name.
She’s older than Justice,
Kinder than Grace,
Quieter than Silence,
And yet more present
Than breath on a cold morning.
You won’t find her
In courtrooms or speeches.
You’ll find her
In the chair beside a hospital bed,
In the arms that hug without asking,
In the eyes that say,
“I know you’re sorry .”
She’s never invited to the feast,
But always shows up after the storm.
Carrying bread.
Carrying balm.
Carrying the courage to stay
When shame says, “ Leave .”
She walks with a cane, yes.
But don’t mistake that
For weakness.
She is the strongest
Spirit
Still choosing
To walk with us.
Even when we
Don’t see her.
Even when we
Don’t deserve her.
And She’s mercy, She exists.
You just have to open your eyes to see her,
And widen your arms to embrace her.
Until that, Mercy will walk with a Cane.
by,
Alphonsa Josy
1st DC English (Media Studies)
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