I like to focus on positive aspects of my adopted country, but I have to share this poem because it represents a common scenario for me - and by that I do not mean that I see this kind of sight frequently, but that I often see sights I can't explain, from a moving car. I catch a glimpse of a moment in someone's life, and then it's gone, and I will never have the context for it or understand it. I've written down many glimpses like that in my "Writing Ideas" file, and some I've turned into poems (like the one I shared in this post). Here, Amy Beeder reflects on one of these moments.
by Amy Beeder
Girl on a heap of street sweepings high
as a pyre, laid on snarled wire & dented rim.
Girl set down among the wrung-out hides.
A girl who was coming from church. It is late
Sunday afternoon. Was it a seizure? Is it
destiny or bad luck we should fear? Weak heart
or swerving taxi? In Tet Bef by the dirty ocean
thousands crush past her without pausing
at the shrine of her spayed limbs; brilliance
like the flesh of lilies sprouting from the pummeled cane.
Is it possible to be lighthearted, hours later?
Days? To forget the yellow dress?
I am waiting for her mother to find her, still
wearing one white spotless glove (where is the other?),
my idle taxi level with her unbruised arm,
her fingers just curling like petals of a fallen flowerand how did it end?
You can read the rest, and hear it read, here.
Today's roundup is here, at the Poem Farm.