Poetry

She couldn’t sleep.
Lightning flickered in her head.
Her toes curled and uncurled.

Strange how the world
slumps on as usual, she thought.
Same brown mountains outside,
same cattle herd of snores
from her father.

But even she
couldn’t think of angels now,
nor bellies nor saviors
nor blood. Just the images
from yesterday, when she walked
through the marketplace
and knew nothing.

The leprous old woman
crouched outside the city gate,
fingertips dissolving
like bread in the rain.

Two skeletal boys
poking through the mud
for shreds of fish.

Bruised and bejeweled
prostitutes hovering
by the leering vegetable vendors.

Everyone who is probably
lying awake like me, she thought.
Feeling too much. Wondering
why they have been chosen.
Waiting for the world
to start over.