Interstate
Ruth Ellen Kocher
The projects were a gift to us,
the meek who inherit the earth.
Walls for our roaches. Foundations
for our rats. The green paneling
layered like grass grown
in a country meadow we never
saw. Sometimes, over
the sound of sex above my head,
I could hear a distant highway,
cars cutting through air
as though no boundaries existed
Between there and here.
You must understand this, the hollow
tunnel of sound-less-ness echoed in movement,
the suggestion of space without walls,
a road that went somewhere
in a heaved sigh of relief.
From Cave Canem 2002.
1 comment:
This is beautiful.
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