Friday, July 9, 2010

St. Augustine Zhao Rong and Companions

I think about them huddled together,

a mass of shivering bodies, the moans

shaping themselves into chords.

There is a music to martyrdom--

an accidental push towards beauty,

towards a sound that wakes you

halfway through the humid night

like a junebug rattling against a screen.

To ease my mind, I set out alone

in the night. I can’t stop walking.

I pass one train station after another

and even though I feel as if

this is the wrong time of night,

the wrong part of town

to be wearing this dress,

the wrong place to not cover

my chest at night, I keep going.

No comments:

Post a Comment