Heroin dragged her around the city
because she had surrendered.
Rags wore her because
they had been surrendered by others.
Braids pulled her hair together,
her arms and a little red blanket
surrounded a kitten.
The kitten was like her,
afraid of being alone,
afraid of knowing it would be.
She mumbled for offerings,
and I could understand her language.
It was her complaint to Morpheus,
that he would never stay,
that his embraces grew shorter,
and it was a question for all of us on the subway,
Do you not know of hunger?
But I would not answer.
I would not exchange my place for hers.
I would not go close to being abandoned,
hanging on so well, as I do, to these rags, these coins,
these little soldiers.
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