Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










from OLD WEIRD WONDER / MOVING LIKE SNAKES IN THIN GRASS AND PINE NEEDLES by Dale Martin Smith

Moving like snakes in thin grass and pine needles.
I try to be this body, my feminine
measure. My dear, the streets are covered
in salt. We might go to a barren place
and love it there. Chips and beer to warm up to
in an antibacterial pub—pink
soap floats in plastic bins. This has been a world
to show off. Hear music in far-off car
radio. Wind brings northern cold to my porch
with mariachi sadness feeling great.
Now sorrow’s almost already gone.
I’m alone when the mask cracks showing
my face again, aging and ageless.
I’m the place empire knows how to spend.

 
 

DALE MARTIN SMITH