Bartered Hope

She remembers the thirty centimetres of bamboo she called a bed,
The way the sirens turned the air thick with fear,
The dress that tore like tissue as she crumpled to the floor,
The ache in her back as she bowed to avoid a beating.
Punishment without purpose,
Life without hope,
Loss so great it weighed her down as the sun blistered her scalp.
And then there was the egg –
A birthday gift,
Bartered from between holes in rusted gates.
A pack of smokes for a square of chocolate,
A square of chocolate for a blouse,
A blouse for an egg,
An egg to be shared between them,
To keep them going,
Each bite a promise of survival,
A promise to see tomorrow.