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The Orienal Girl

Poetry By: donkylemore
Flash fiction


thoughts about a child who became a woman


Submitted:Aug 12, 2008    Reads: 170    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   



They wait with a haunted patience
For a tide that will never come;

A letter from a son in Boston maybe
But with withering hope they wait
on dusty hills ;
Among the wilting olive trees
For a dawn that will neither come;

Sheppard's call the clanging dangling clattering goats .
Now rigid to a halt; their call ebbing with their last hope

And the herds look back
With black and sloey and unforgiving hollow eyes
To the herdsman who looks towards the purple twilight
For the sight of Altair in the sky .

The wraith l slips into the night
With chaste loose robes ;
Meets her promised lover in a car

And straps the laden belt chastely beneath her robe
On his gentle instruction;
Slips out at the road side caf´┐Ż where the soldiers are
Leering at porno videos drinking beer

Along the road from the coast
There is little but the smouldering carcass
A car ablaze - bodies strewn
And mangled like so many Pieces of gutted animals

Dark blood stains seeping out
On the dusty road in the plume e of smoke

Still hanging in the stillness after the quake
.Which shook the wadis and the herdsmen harken with expectation
And their clinking flock shuddle to a halt.
Is this the time .. Just now perhaps
The herd circle their Sheppard now in their confusion.


*************
They said that the bay weeps and prays;
And she joins her father and her brother in embrace;
Their first martyr was the eldest girl;

Who would not marry
She was past her age her time her youth
And her glory now forever etched in the lingering life
In the village above the tobacco fields


They have passed as spirits do
Across the nomads sand ;
South along the silken route;
Where Inca gold was traded for spice and dye

The Spring has comes at last
But without a winter in between
and no hope of summer.
Due or deserved

And a tide will ebb ';
But will never lift
The boat where Noah's arc lay stranded
On the mountain - Arafat

Where the leader took his name
And gave them hope while he lived and anguish
And a war without that fig - leaf in his hand..

Don't let me drop the leaf.
He said to the United Nations

When the ambulance comes there is no hurry now ;
No heartbeat awaits them.
No pulse to feel - not even an arm

And later I discover she was with the skittering girls who came
Looking for the skin doctor
That's what they called me
Strange as the soldiers joked about it
Being a skin doctor was a king of porn
Iin soldiers talk

And I wasn't even good at that
But they still wait with hope
Upon the sandy slopes
For a tide that never comes.





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