Caracas

See—a homeless six-year-old swing
a red shawl over a tree stump, calling her

by name; a soldier’s hand shake
like thousands of tiny ants

carrying red petals; your child self
open dolls inside dolls

to find nothing
at last; the outer spaces, the whole wood;

yourself as the quiet
revolution of air

inside an empty bowl.

Return to Index of Poetry by Erika Kulnys