The eyes are cowries, narrowed
into slits, gravid with
their own good weather.
I saw myself in the lorry’s rear-
view mirror. I looked
farther away than I was,
half-swallowed in the dust storm.
Hold me, I said to the mask.
Keep us together.
Masque
This was written by Dave Bonta and is available for reprint or creative remix under an Attribution-Share Alike Creative Commons license. Bookmark the permalink. Trackbacks are closed, but you can post a comment.
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