Jezebel Above the City
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Always this way, doing my hair,
waiting in the window for calamity
to find me.

A vineyard of soured grapes,
a vineyard of men, a vineyard of years,
each one a turned Taroh on green velvet,
seems a small price for the power

to leave myself lost above the street,
my youth, in her high-heeled boots
and zebra-striped fuchsia mini,
passing below with a pause to
see herself in the hardware-
store reflection.

Every neon sign
blinks back
the indifference of urban seasons,
a series of smells:
buttermilk-curdled garbage,
gutter leaves, exhaust.
Evening threads weave
dogs through alleys
looking for food
and territory,
a region.

I love them like brothers,
the throated growl,
constant hunger that gives
direction.

 

From One Girl Babylon by Ruth Ellen Kocher
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