Thirty Hours ( Constance Poem 2)

The corner girl drew me in with sultry eyes and one question thirty hours later I left the abandoned fortress where she lives with the shameful knowledge that she is fully human She is mother to a son hidden three states away and she poured frustrated love for him into my ear, nestled against her pillow She was once a wife who endured empty years of cruel love She told me of her memory of five years sober in words wrapped around the needle in her right fist, pouring death dissolved into her left hand I learned that she was fully human when, at midnight, she invited me to stay and share her warmth on a bitter night with moaning wind Through all the smoke and glass between us I saw her, at careful moments as a child but no, the lines and cracks of early age are etched across the roadmap of her face A shameful moment: morning bloomed at the edges of the plywood that shields her windows. I had spent the night holding her warmth listening to the tragedy of her, with small moments of laughter. I, still needy, asked one question: "Would you like to earn some money this morning?" Sadly, and startled by the reality of our relationship, she went to work. Thirty hours after my chance encounter with the corner girl We exchanged farewells: "It was a pleasure" "When will I see you again?" and "maybe we can do dinner and a movie next time" With that, we walked back into our lives I trudged back to this office, she returned to her corner but after a thirty-hour conversation my reality has been transformed forever Written February 7th, 2002 © on Jul 18 2002 05:44 AM PST   0 • 10