Lines
The permanent lines on her wrinkled face she harboured
On her shoulder the loose threads fly
Waiting for the ones gone from her lullaby
To the city of lights and colours
Not a warm embrace or a smiling face
But an envelope of excuses and money
Enough to fill the empty plate
But not enough to fill the void of the heart that is lonely
Traces of lines divided the parched earth
Like tiles of dirt under a giant bulb
Shining so brightly the rain evaporated
Into droplets of tears and sweat
The lines chased them away from the empty houses
Into much emptier lives where surviving is the mantra
Looking at the sun with the back of their heads
While the hands do what they have to do
The wiggling lines of tv static
Monotonous, like lines of shadows at the bus stop
The lines of cars stuck on the street
And the line of scars on rough hands
Wired and flooded with neon lights is the city
But the field spread far with no other line but the sky’s
While hollow shells inhale exhaust fumes
The burning plains suffocated the poor
The lines of smoke swirl in the air
From the crematory where she lay burned
So they come, hands bare
Then leave with lighter bodies and an urn.
