Monday, August 19, 2013

19 August 2013

Santa Cruz 

In this town there’s a riverwalk
of paved paths & naturalizing weeds
where dirty needles
push promises into foundered veins.

The sun is shining
but the homeless haven’t shed their layers.
There’s a sleeping bag buried in rushes,
barnacled with mud.

As I push her stroller across the bridge
my grandchild shows me
how inside it lies a ponytailed head
& next to it a puppy’s tail.

— after Akhmatova

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