Charity begins at home. What if you don’t have a home? What if every door knocked upon denied you respite? What if only the soles of your feet could tell the story of your departure?
Where then is charity? Where is she when only the painful comfort of blacken asphalt remembers your name? Where is she when black eyes and crows call you cousin and friend? Where is charity when the dew of night’s fallen mist is your blanket?
Come now to me lover. Explain your absence. Explain my broken heart. Come now to me my champion. Pull my hair and release my darkness. Explain your travels. Explain the means of your great escape. Take me down and reveal my tear.
If the sounds of her Nubian experience frighten you, disarm you, make you pale with regret, then charity has found her home. Open wide and welcome her in. Her chains rattle for but a moment. Her back is yet unbowed. Glistening is her many sorrows but she has found her home. Pull back the curtain and watch her dance in the firelight of a new tomorrow.
Charity begins at home and home is where her heart was. She is out there, somewhere. Her heart is at home, out there, somewhere.
Charity is home. Her company is well fed. Their beds are warm and well slept. Charity is alone.