Hanging out with the Socialists

I fold donated clothes
that will be given to low income families
on labor day
while ninety-something year old Grace
tells me of the death of another bishop
as she oohs and aahs
over a pile of polyester shirts
I set aside for the old ladies.

Grace's weathered and wrinkled skin
tells a bit about the map of her life,
of doing without
and of fighting back.