Thank you Kristiana and Free Verse Revolution


A mass of  tangled limbs we cling to each other. I hold tight to baby sister as we toss about the dank floor of the vessel, its boards pelted by the spray of high swells. Her   sweet scent distinguishes her from the others, she has the smell of  blossoms freshly picked. Just yesterday we were lingering along the dirt road that leads from the old school house to our home of splintered walls and concrete floors ignoring by instinct the slant eyes of  men driving an old van closer and closer. Our school books scattered on the path, muffled cries drowned under rumbling motors. Miles from home we are fed La Rochas to  soothe us into sweet fevered dreams. Waking  in a perfumed world of flowered sarongs and  silk fans, we can sense the slits of men’s eyes behind angry walls.


Copyright H. Rene Hunter

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