with marginal shame

With Marginal Shame

Now the sun, breaking through the morning fog and live oaks, strikes

a bright, sparkling day here in Brooklyn. No sign of depression yet

in dreams I didn’t get to stay. And neither did she. Something to do with

strong simple strokes like the Draw Me girl in magazine contests,

the way it often was when I was a child. I remember a garden I

was getting pretty dull already from exhaustion, but then again I was

a woman, a member of the class women. Conversely, one loves

how she was chosen by the village to perform circumcisions—

he wished he could be the one arresting me. I felt sick and I tried to

need a gun. They made you do what they want without a gun and

we suffered. Rehashed everything. Wept. Felt discouraged &

already we would be feeling better. There was a hopeful urgency.