a room in rutshuru

i struggle
with the lock
on your door –
wiggling,
jiggling,
wondering why
i can’t convince you
to open –
fully capable
but still unable
when finally
we click.

you look old,
deteriorated,
used and
dirty.

and just as
my comfort
begins to feel
forsaken,
i realize
that what you offer
is better
than nine
out of ten
in this world.

humbled,
i comprehend that
i’ve just mistaken
the face
of wealth
for the face
of poverty.