Craig Wisner

No Escape. (This morning going to work.)

Drifting out of the fog and onto the median

a thin woman draped in a red blanket,

wearing baby blue tights,

eyeliner and mascara running in black streaks down her face.

Lost looking, dazed, she crosses the street,

circles slowly in place in a gas station.

The light turns green, I pull away, craning my head

to catch one last glimpse

of her simply standing there.

A sign on a beauty shop next to a liquor store

boasts 100% natural Indian hair

and I wonder about an Indian woman

who shaved her head, perhaps her daughter’s head,

standing in a marketplace, a kitchen, maybe a field,

fresh white scalps and deep brown skin.

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