From the train window I can see miles of Pines, they seem to go on forever. There’s a golden wolf howling at the moon, chanting to the midnight Gods. By morning that will give way to Palm trees and screeching Cicadas. Tonight the stars reveal the belly of the world  from which we all come.   What I have left is a photograph. Tell me night-time dreamer, why you hold so many secrets in your heart. When I look into your  eyes
all I  see is star dust.

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

 

Annie Says “it’s alright”

Here on the balcony I let the cool  air and a majestic linden tree with its dark leaved  branches  reach out to soothe  me but the night conjures memories from the past that I try to blow away in the smoke of my cigarette.   In the back of my mind I recall a girl, a fragility in leather.    Did  she  exist or is she a  construct of my brain?   I try  to drown out my thoughts with some blues.  I am going somewhere I really don’t want to go and tonight I am breathing just for the light.