Where the Walls Meet
She sits so still in the living
room that I think she must be dead.
The lamp is switched off.
There is music: an old disco tune.
The singer says he will never dance again.
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.
it begins to rain.
Mora Girl -- Victorio Edades