My friend remembers

holding babies in an orphanage

across the border

when she was there as a teen

with a charitable group

whose name she has long forgotten.

Her volunteer role was simply to hold and rock the babies,

the sweet little souls.

My friend, like me, is elderly now,

but she still drives all over town

on those fast freeways

that I dare not enter

(when I'm behind the wheel).

Now, my friend is zipping around town to library book shops

buying children's books (in Spanish) for my church to take across the border

to an orphanage.

There is a little library now

at the orphanage dedicated

to the memory of a church guy (an African-American cop) who died

at a youngish age.

He was a leader for good in the community,

a shining light.

And so the light shines on--

babies being held,

old ladies gathering books,

little kids reading books,

people passing on to the light.