Isabel
Abstract
Resistant like rigor mortis, her hands scrunch as I try to open palms to place a few coins, enough for an empanada or adobo soup. Resistant, she whispers gracias and unlocks her fingers to accept my help— a blind woman with a baby bundled in her lap. Resistant, because she did not choose to be poor in this crowded Peruvian city, sleeping on steps in the winter's dry cold. Resistant at first, she spoke slowly, saying her life had ended after the Shining Path burned her fields and...