excerpt

From where she sat in the corner of the sofa, Rachael could watch Bobby and Freddy playing on the kitchen floor with Bobby’s dump truck. They filled it with Freddy’s new building blocks, then drove their load to another part of the room, and dumped it before returning to the original site for more.
Rachael did not spend all her time watching the boys, however. Every few seconds she would look down into the pretty face of her Shirley Temple doll. Not once since morning had she let the doll out of her sight – not even when she had to help with the dishes after the Christmas dinner, or when she had to sweep the kitchen floor. She had sat Shirley up in a chair where she could see her all the time. She knew Aunt Ruby had been impatient with her, but she hadn’t scolded. It was Christmas, after all, and Aunt Ruby had been extra nice today.
Rachael wished she could have said the same for Lyssa. The older girl had taunted her every chance she got, sneering that Rachael was too old to play with dolls, calling Shirley ugly, and once even, trying to pull the curly hair as she passed by. Rachael had snatched the doll out of her reach just in time.
Lark, on the other hand, loved Shirley almost as much as Rachael did, so the younger girl had been allowed to hold and cuddle her whenever she wanted. In return, Lark had told Rachael she could wear

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since their home sends them
away and the roads don’t
even desire them because
the Goddess Freedom, that rules
over everyone and makes grace
out of evil, deserted them and
they can’t live in foul air nor
in the country nor in the city.
Bastards, liars, thieves and
seducers whose evil has no
fire nor air, nor stature
as if they were Christians,
Turks, godless who live here
and there and they’re tossed
around, travelling gypsies or
domesticated.
Behold the gypsies, last remnants
of a dead nobility, different
than the raggedly dressed crowd,
with faces glowing in the sunlight
sharp like sharpened blades and
from their unbending bodies
by chance glances, stirrings
still know how to order
still know how to guide.

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Craving
Moment by moment the craving
intensified during the night
it grew in silent moans
roots like a tree it spread
eavesdropping just outside
our bedroom and I lay
next to you analyzing your
right nipple, wondering whether
to feel it or let it relax in
its poetic effusion, soft
breeze from the open window
brings sweet memories
of a shore and
you said —
how nice if we could swim
in our secluded little cove

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