Brown woman in red dress
lounges under gaze of sun god
legs stretch across green bench
during fickle spring.
Her hair is a neglected garden—
the locks of a woman
who mourns the dead,
the locks of a marooned soul,
culture starved, battle scarred.
Is she a lost youth in search of independence?
Is she a souvenir of tropical holiday heat?
Is she a mail-order bride?
A refugee? An escaped domestic slave?
I pray sun god does not blink
for she, lost in a sea of pale faces,
will drown in the cold.
© Althea Mark-Romeo
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