the crumpling of women
—Cendrars, La Prose du Transibérien
on the flight to kabul the dry earth glares
—Cendrars, La Prose du Transibérien
on the flight to kabul the dry earth glares
little jeanne turns to me and says help me pam
she's afraid of the future she's standing
in a patch of poison oak stoned on acid help me pam
she's a toddler who lost her spoon help me
she's a baby falling off our mother's lap
at the hotel we find coat hangers in the closet
old and bent what were they used for
the sink stains the shaggy spots in the rug
someone was hauled out of here
a bevy of bearded men arrive to hold our elbows
tell us where we can safely go
to the restaurant to the window briefly
hustle to a car to be driven from the capital
we take refuge near the alcoves at Bamiyan
signs of alexander — sand armies roadblocks
little girls from nowhere. nowhere is a village.
what are you doing here they stamp angrily help us
heat rises from the oven of earth we are all earth-colored
little jeanne how I could not protect
little jeanne how I could not protect
you. we can still pretend to be clematis for a while longer
white. mild. moist. fragrant. nodding on our stems.
under arcturus a tent flaps
under arcturus are many murders
under arcturus little jeanne is so pained and puzzled
how far are we from home pam she asks
how far are we from home pam she asks
she looks up as a drone approaches
no she says no we are flowers well-watered
I grab her spoon run I say
.