je suis un chien for you, andalusia
whose air carries
apple /  leather /  tobacco
whose children lisp quiet prayers
in teahouses
& cut with scissors fanta cans
that become ashtrays for tourists

whose geography i swallowed
several lives ago
whose corazón beats out
of tram doors
after the reluctant fleeing of suns
from this empire

long gone from the barrios
that fold accordion pockets
eastly and westly
through cordoba
from blurs of caliphate green
tiled living houses
are my sisters

whose movement i must
with pilfered motel pen,
nine euro,
tea that carries
apple /  leather /  tobacco
onto a taxicab seat
at the side of maimonides

About the author

Audri Sousa was born with wanderlust. Her work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Abjective, Breadcrumb Scabs, Transfer Magazine, and Word Riot. She…

Read the full bio

Issue 05 · June 2009

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