Photo: Larry Fink


“You  are my shelter”  he said.


We bump into  one another traveling, after years apart.

We sit in front row seats,  in the back of a mini-bus.

I lay with my head on your shoulder, arms twisted, elbows bent, holding  your hand to my mouth.

My lips brush your knuckles gently, in time with the bumping of the van; down muddy, boulder-strewn roads.

I watch unfazed as a woman, dark skin,  black eyes, black hair, swoops  in from the back of the bus  kissing you,  hot  on the  mouth; one fat, hungry kiss,  burning for more.

You rip your mouth away.

The woman and I lock eyes.

we are  all 

so sorry. 

 I was safe

I am home.




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