Who is this woman?

Who is this woman with rheumy eyes and betel leaf stains on her lips,
her teeth rotting in her ancient sunken mouth?

Was she ever a little child with shiny black hair and innocent eyes?
Did she sing softly to herself as she played in the village?

Did she ever tread lightly, full of hope and expectation?

Was there a time when she was vital, her breasts young and her hips had a sensuous curve?
Did her heart race when she caught a glimpse of a young man’s face
or heard his voice whispering her name?
Did she laugh, did she giggle, did she dream?

Has she ever lain in a night of passion, an urgent young man at her thigh,
lust reflecting in his soft brown eyes?
Did she ever hold a newborn to her breast?
Its small dark eyes glinting up at her with dependence?
And when the war swept through her country with cyclonic force,
did she sling a gun across her back and fight for her freedom?

She has flowed with the ebb and tide of the Thu Bon River and rowed heavily upstream against its current. Taking passengers and produce forwards, backwards, upstream and back, day after month after year. She would have weathered the monsoonal floods of ‘64 and ‘99 and 2009, when the rich people of town hoisted their precious belongings to the top floors of their houses for safety.

At the end of the day does she have a home to go to, a family?
As she squats and counts the notes she has earned, does anyone hand her a warm bowl of broth?
Does the smoke from the wood fire catch and cling in grey of her wiry hair?
Is there a small bed in a small room where she can rest?
Or does she sleep in her little boat, tethered by an old rope to the dock,
with only the familiar sounds of the night for comfort?

Who is this woman with rheumy eyes and betel leaf stains on her lips
and her teeth rotting in her ancient sunken mouth?