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craigverlinPoems
the mesa is scalding with summer morning heat draped like a shawl across the shoulders of the hueco I get up slowly gingerly careful of that mess of a hostel floor I couldn't live here such a heat dries out the bones --and the soul parched and cracking-- then the dust comes through pores and lungs to fill the holes grab a half smoked cigar from the ash don't bother to step outside onto the caked, blooded clay simply match flame to tobacco and inhale that starched, bitter smoke there's dirt on the floor one room casita pale green shades pale green blanket lemon wallpaper around a one pane window where I can sit and smoke and type watching nonchalantly all the men trying to break that invisible line across the Rio Grande they move fast and quietly huddling their children close on the small canoe with one man at the oar he only nods as he rows toward the shore he has seen many and many more to come before his arm can no longer row or perhaps his heart will give way what a sight --glorious and true-- skin caked like the clay by the sun the cigar is burnt out I stomp it to ashes across the tiled floor I can't truly see them that man in the canoe and those he carries but imagine how green that grass must seem how green amongst all the clay and blood must be a hell of a thing to behold whilst all I try to do is get away from it all as fast and quietly as possible and so it seems all there is to do is to keep rowing
0
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
El Paso with Nowhere to Go
the mesa is scalding with summer morning heat draped like a shawl across the shoulders of the hueco I get up slowly gingerly careful of that mess of a hostel floor I couldn't live here such a heat dries out the bones --and the soul parched and cracking-- then the dust comes through pores and lungs to fill the holes grab a half smoked cigar from the ash don't bother to step outside onto the caked, blooded clay simply match flame to tobacco and inhale that starched, bitter smoke there's dirt on the floor one room casita pale green shades pale green blanket lemon wallpaper around a one pane window where I can sit and smoke and type watching nonchalantly all the men trying to break that invisible line across the Rio Grande they move fast and quietly huddling their children close on the small canoe with one man at the oar he only nods as he rows toward the shore he has seen many and many more to come before his arm can no longer row or perhaps his heart will give way what a sight --glorious and true-- skin caked like the clay by the sun the cigar is burnt out I stomp it to ashes across the tiled floor I can't truly see them that man in the canoe and those he carries but imagine how green that grass must seem how green amongst all the clay and blood must be a hell of a thing to behold whilst all I try to do is get away from it all as fast and quietly as possible and so it seems all there is to do is to keep rowing
Written by
craigverlin
American
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
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