Poetry and the literary culture I'm growing in a milk carton
Monday, November 10, 2008
Our Last Big Fight
We are outside, surrounded by women with empty mouths. They stand under tents, behind rows of books. They hand us little pieces of paper, their eyes searching our eyes, as if they might recognize us, as if we are merely waiting for the right moment to tell them we are cousins, to give them a gift.
I turn towards them; you walk away. Darkness approaches like a horrible dress or a loud, broken train.