Cherry Blossoms

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 a 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 pale pink sarongs and  silk fans.  The slits of a man’s eyes behind angry walls.

copyright H. Rene Hunter