
-freelance writer, editor
& published poet-
Alexandra S. Thompson
west-side
there, beyond the melting
pools of neon lights, dark modulations
of the soul reverberate in leaves.
drip, drop
the hollow curve of footprints
a trail, ahead,
incense scowls into closed
air, wet leaves pungent,
nostrils open, slow suck
in.
shadowshops. the sign for Sweet
Freedom: pictures of croissants,
buns, things. EZ
Park Here. people inside of
glass walls dance away
I walk.
Breeze wet, warm
damp bedsheets fluttering down to
ground, mattress,
tuck. KEEPING YOU SAFE & WARM
advertisements, city street regulations.
La Veracruza lit & barren, aside for a
thai woman, back bent, watching
me watching her clothes spin
suds, wet
the air a bloated dishrag, squeeze
squeeze, concrete pores open
& close, as if breathing.
soft fuzz hats of children
bounce past, their front teeth
missing laughter as if easy.
“Let us in!” “Hey, hey”
Turn a corner unintended. so far
now from streets I know
the houses are nice, here
Closed.
Here, moon-sigh
gardens mewl a hello
& trickling fountains burble
water distilled
Lean over
Touch it
of spirits. laughter ripples the pools
awake, as if disturbance was
natural. In a place like this.