Through the Car Window, New Delhi
A child crouches barefoot beneath a concrete wall
beside the black asphalt, traffic and fumes.
She scoops up dirt with her bare hands, piles and pats it
into a pan, then dumps out the grains and begins again. There
under the freeway overpass the powdery music of dirt
whispers through the cracks of her fingers as she listens
and listens to the calm of its voice, holding it
like satin in the palm of her hand.
A child crouches barefoot beneath a concrete wall
beside the black asphalt, traffic and fumes.
She scoops up dirt with her bare hands, piles and pats it
into a pan, then dumps out the grains and begins again. There
under the freeway overpass the powdery music of dirt
whispers through the cracks of her fingers as she listens
and listens to the calm of its voice, holding it
like satin in the palm of her hand.
Through the Car Window
A child crouches barefoot beneath a concrete wall
beside the black asphalt, traffic and fumes.
She scoops up dirt with her bare hands, piles and pats it
into a pan, then dumps out the grains and begins again. There
under the freeway overpass the powdery music of dirt
whispers through the cracks of her fingers as she listens
and listens to the calm of its voice, holding it
like satin in the palm of her hand.
Through the Car Window
A child crouches barefoot beneath a concrete wall
beside the black asphalt, traffic and fumes.
She scoops up dirt with her bare hands, piles and pats it
into a pan, then dumps out the grains and begins again. There
under the freeway overpass the powdery music of dirt
whispers through the cracks of her fingers as she listens
and listens to the calm of its voice, holding it
like satin in the palm of her hand.
Anna Citrino---Poetry, Place, Pilgrimage 