One Night In Monte Alegre

i see the sun
set in Monte Alegre

A White brow
framed by the window

long white hair
flowing like a polluted river

upon the neck of
an old woman

holding a cane
such trembling hands

worn out
stopping on the edge

of uncut fingernails
eyes

fixed upon
the nothingness that

i, who sit there,
am, beginning to see

it is not horrible
darkness creeping

upon the black thigh
dry blood

scarlet night
dead in Monte Alegre

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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