These Hazy Days

Unforgiven

red hills roll.

storks dance

legs tangled in green,

skies caving as bamboo bends;

as I bend;

as my sister folds onto the ground,

as she presses her hands to her face,

as she screams for me to

stay away

           stay far

                 and so the great tides rise and fall

           their breathing hoarse.

distant fires leap

           on stilted legs

                       along the sand.

                             children jump rope

             and sear their knees

against the sidewalk,

           and the storks once again

                     let their wings fall into rest—

gray rest,

         unwanted,

                          unkind,

                                   burdensome.

soon shards of sky

splinter the dead red faces

of these hills. but I

cannot climb their slopes.

they do not support my weight.

and now the chopstick birds,

bodies stretched comically

in circus rings now fled,

call from their own small

corners of the world—

so vastly unlike my own.

water is scarce

where I stand.

drought reigns;

unforgiven.