E. Grace St., N. 2nd St., Kat Bundy


A dark porcelain face,
mesmerizing mocha skin.
Eyes like caverns,
deep, dark, loveliness tinged
with lonely, broken pain.
I never got her name.

 

A Richmond city corner,
on a frigid night,
cars flashing by,
the headlights dashed
across her bare-legged brilliance.

 

Everything about her was captivating,
not like her colleagues needle-marked madness.
Clean arms, no drugs.
Not a hint of some post-baby bump.
How was she here,
making the street more beautiful?