Dennis Maulsby

MEMORY OF A EURASIAN WORKING GIRL

I hope she knew why I was so quiet, when
we held hands that night in her strange land,
uninvited and lost.

It must have made her uneasy, watching for cues
from this twice her size round-eyed male creature,
so large pored and hairy.

Blood-warm breeze felt so comfortable.
Her perfume riffing the air,
set time for the music

That night she even pierced my blind stare,
and helped me lay down my mountain of stored up death,
so weary with the weight.

Whether she was aware or not,
she did what women have done for soldiers these
thousands of futile years.

Fingers entwined our primal spirits touched
and I remembered
what my soul should look like

Author’s Note: This poem was recently printed in Lyrical Iowa, the annual anthology of the Iowa Poets Association