| Never arriving in a city missing in locational drift plates shifting under building facades and whipped décor, seas rising and falling at the edge of amusements and surf. The migrations migrating elsewhere, monarchs lost on their way south, children coming north in droves on their way to anywhere else. The city of lost souls blowing in the Santa Ana winds and people who are not us no matter who we are. Where is she now, he asks, what ever happened to the girl named for a saint, the one with the ankle tattoo the one who dropped out, lost out, & only just arrived. Copyright © 2015 by Martha Ronk. Used with permission of the author. |
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