Sunday, March 13, 2011


at eighteen she decided 
she was going to marry 
a boy from benghazi

with scars on his chest
and revolt in his eyes, 
she would trace them
on their wedding night,
fingers moving across lines,
like roads between the cities 
he fought in

he would want a woman with a 
soft body, after the hardness of war, 
something to revel in freedom with,
fingers gripping hips, leaned back against 
windowsill, he would tell her the stories
eyes heavily-lidded and half closed, 
until she begged him to stop.

she was eighteen when she decided
she wanted to marry
a boy from benghazi. 

1 comment:

M. Hicks said...

This is beautiful, thank you.