little pig does poetry
Ad 2:
2004-05-06 09:30:52 (UTC)

Only in the Distance

Black hair evenly drops
down to mid-neck, occasionally
bouncing and playing in the wind
like a flag, restless on its pole.

Each strand, when tossed,
reaches out like a hand
to be touched, to be held.
Or perhaps a lover to be spread
on her bed, an evening to embrace.
to remember.

They expose their tender skin,
like naked teens crowding
the beach during summer,
and their skin glistens in a mixture
of sweat, sand, lake, and sun.

And as the sweat rolls
down the cheeks to form
tributaries of salt, the hair
entangles in the flow.

No longer strands, or individual
hands that swing and swirl
at the tugs of wind,

but bundles of black rope, damp--
hanging together like a family
on display for public eyes. And
the sun cries, helpless as he
kills the color of their drying skin.