Twelve Years Old in Bankok

Gag the nightingale

Bruise the rose

Tear petals away

Wherever flowers grow.

Last night in a dream

I slept with my mother,

Then he woke me

The stranger

My ten-dollar lover.

A slash of the moon

Lay between us

Like a cool silver river,

And soon we were adrift

In pools so far away

I saw over his shoulder

My mother could no longer

Tread the flow.

Published in the 1997-09-12 issue: 

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