In Praise of the Cleaning Lady

by April Sojourner Truth Walker

who sees me frenzied

charging to the back

of the women's bathroom

looking for a place

to nurse my newborn son; 

she who asks

what you looking for

and doesn’t hesitate

to direct me to the museum's

Administrative offices, whispers

turn left when you get out 

the elevator, go down

just a little and you'll find

a family restroom.

To the cleaning lady – short

like my Big Mama, but slight

like my sister, chocolate

like my aunties, with hair

pulled neatly in a ponytail

standing behind a trash cart 

emptying the handicap stall;

she who tells me, go on up 

I'll be there in a few.

To the cleaning lady

whose knock on the restroom

door startles me, whose firm 

voice breaks the silence surrounding

me and my newborn son suckling 

soft and secure; she who says

you in there honey? 

I wanna make sure you ok.