A poem for Amparo

When I lived in Nicaragua

I stayed with a man named Henry.

Henry took in anyone

and everyone.

One time there were

five of us

all sleeping on his

California King.

Me, Henry, his boyfriend,

and his best friend, Amparo

who brought her one-year old son, 

sick from a fever.

One day I was talking
about the people who helped me
along the way.
At the end of it she sighed and said something
that stuck with me
forever:

"In every place it is the same;

there are few people 

who are bad."

This is did not come from

a place of privilege

where seeing the world with an amber hue

comes easy.

This came from someone

poor and struggling

living in Nicaragua

as a woman.

Someone who left home

because her drunken husband

starting beating her

again.

Sometimes I am still

lucky enough
to hear her words

when I find myself 

complaining.