Karen Kevorkian

Issue #
February 28, 2015

Between the Flowing Thread and the Luminous Line

A river twisted below streets sunburned with rust,

here and there by the river banana tree thickets,

beneath bridges wet moss and urine, tuneless

flagstones underfoot, on the streets hotel workers

waiting for buses, on the river little barges

rowing tourists to pleasure, above all was brighter

and hotter, the sky’s hard blue porcelain

felt in the teeth and the bone, every morning

calling to the aged woman in her bed, a smile

ever more disturbing, a young woman’s smile…

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