Sunday, July 26, 2015

Worn out Women

the women on my street are worn out 
inside out, there is breakage of flesh 
and gathering of old, shriveled roses 
at their doors but I cannot tell why 

these are the women of my street
too proud to ask for a hand with the laundry 
or an ear for the language lesson
they rather burn the cake than bake slowly

I watch them move and hear them sink
it is the wearing of these tongues, sharp and pointy
that keeps the women faithful 
to the talk and wears the rest, gradually.

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