Scattering the March

I was not beaten

but the boy beside me was.

He broke stride, stumbled,

the sticks circled over him,

corralling him into their world.

I met his eyes and lip-read

“run,” a whisper

engulfed in sirens.

I slowed down

in an unknown neighborhood,

a street of watch repairers,

tinsmiths, tailors sitting

cross-legged in dim windows

staring at lacquered Singers

like men whose eyes

are lost in a fire,

and I ducked past them

glancing sideways

in deep pity because I’d been

a step away from freedom.

Copyright Credit: D. Nurkse, “Scattering the March” from The Rules of Paradise (New York: Four Way Books, 2001). Used by permission of Four Way Books.

Source: The Rules of Paradise (Four Way Books, 2001)