Sept 21
for Mexico City after earthquake, 1985
It's almost total dark tonight, before
a moon in our Green Valley. No buildings
collapsed. I'm just walking my dog—
and I'm back there. Storefront spilling
shattered glass can't glitter in so little light.
Streetlamps out. Department store.
I aim a flash-beam—human figure
sprawled inside the door. How can my dog
just step over it, and move on? But it's
only a mannequin, high-heels
scattered among beads. We’re searching
for a survivor among so many
dead. 26 years later, I'm still trying to fix
the image, to find words. Crawl
out of the ruins with someone alive.
Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2011
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