Wittier Word Weavers

Writers' Club of Whittier

Tournure

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It draws my eyes
A banner of haze
Drifting across the bright morning sky still dew damp
warming up to the touch of day

It hangs across the valley sleeping below emptied of cows
Small strip of asphalt threads through a hollowed land still wild dotted
where old rigs still pump
like giant storks dipping their long beaks and lifting,
a laconic figure sipping diffused earth
Minding no time

My car tires grind a graveled bend and there, my drape of smoky sky again
fluffed off, hung to dry like a piece of bed sheet mid-air
Who has slept in it last night and was there love?
Was there passion?

Someone in the crook of someone’s arm, nestled in downy warmth
Brown body shone against pearly white
sheet wrinkled atop a groaning bed of pleasure
a splash of milk billowy white

The road turns and magically leaves
all the noise and traffic
The trail of smoke was like a reminder hanging
above a big rig truck with white cab and no driver inside
back a few hundred years when galloping Indians
sped free
down to this sleepy hollow flooded in grassy waves and sages
without me
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Author: Hong-My Basrai

Memoirist and author of Behind the Red Curtain, blogger, engineer, manager, mother of three and wife of one, etc. I am a bit of everything.

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