Rome called her pure.  The words rang like bowls struck hollow.  My baby lifted into white.  Her feet left the dust I knew by heart.  Neighbours who had forever looked away, now smiled proud.  I bowed and called it gratitude.  Rome called her pure.  Purity fed us oil and grain.  Respect came without asking.  Things women like us never inherit, only borrow.  She walked untouched through men's streets.  I followed, careful not to reach.  Rome called her pure.  So she learned to