#hinterlands
she stood outside the apartment
finger halfway up her nose
scratching with her free hand
a **** loosely encased
in patchy, ***** blue jeans
ratty sneakers with holes where
her toes and dignity poked through
usually a whiner, a brayer
a donkey among gently purring cats
calling down thunder and racket
like a motorcycle tearing circles through a lamp shop
today, of all days, she swayed
silently
in loose waltz time
to soft piano of a long-dead Frenchman
curling down from speakers
mounted in windows
across the street
her misshapen hips and flexing calf muscles
lifting her up in a rude en pointe
somehow made elegant
by a quiet ballad, a soothing moment
on a hot August morning
in Main Street
of the hinterlands.
2/12/2015
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
I am in the hinterlands
Of my being
I am in the xin jiang
Of my spirituality
I am in the talklamakan
Of my happiness
I am in the borderlands
Of my love.
Looking for meaning.
Looking for justice.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC