Wednesday, November 24, 2010

St. Andrew Dung Lac

on this motorbike,

I hold my hymnal

as if it was my first born.

we teeter dangerously close

to the bumpers of trucks,

towering baskets of chickens.

I close my eyes and imagine

that the spokes of this bike

catch the hem of my skirt,

send me sprawling into the street.

somewhere, my mother hears

me fall. somewhere, my bones

have shaken loose.

they burst into snow.

No comments:

Post a Comment