David Norris writes

Where the Walls Meet

She sits so still in the living

room that I think she must be dead.

The fire is in her eyes.
The lamp is switched off.

There is music: an old disco tune.

The singer says he will never dance again.

                                            

The lights flicker on her proud face.
The moon shines on the snow outside our windows.

When she sits so silently

in these cold, Minnesota winters,

I don't know if she is remembering

the hot Filipino sun,

or if she has finally forgotten

the high tides of sailors and the names of ships.

**************

 
She turns and looks through me.
She turns away and smiles.

She is so exotic with her

high cheek bones and almond eyes.

Her teeth are perfectly white.

Her smile is an archer's bow.

The children never cry when she is like this.

The house never moves.

I do not go near her;

I do not leave the room.

She sits in her silence, and

I disappear inside a dark cloud.

In the corner where the walls meet 
it begins to rain.




Mora Girl -- Victorio Edades