By Lorna Dee Cervantes
We were so poor.
The air was a quiver
of thoughts we drew from
to poise, unsaid
in the ineffable
world we lived in.
Sun, scarcely a penny
in that dreary setting,
every night gave up
to a smog-strewn avalanche
of searchlights, crossing
the heavens, a bicker
to buy a new used...
The air was a quiver
of thoughts we drew from
to poise, unsaid
in the ineffable
world we lived in.
Sun, scarcely a penny
in that dreary setting,
every night gave up
to a smog-strewn avalanche
of searchlights, crossing
the heavens, a bicker
to buy a new used...