Florentine
The Weight of Light
She was born a year after Fiacre,
arriving quietly into a house already full of work and noise.
When I met her, she was shy,
her eyes slipping toward the ground as though to hide.
School was a fragile thread that soon broke.
Her mother needed her in the fields,
at the hearth, under the sun.
Childhood hanging between two worlds.
Her silence glows like the memory of light.
Florentine carries the weight of a girlhood spent between worlds:
still a child, yet already a keeper of firewood, of siblings, of the rhythm of the house.
There is a certain radiance about her,
a kind of light that persists, even in silence.
