An Indian woman once told me that I had
a great destiny and she could read my future
for a few dollars, if only I would climb
out of the womb, my infant heart beating
renegades, cracking their skulls.
But the cliff walls were too steep and I was never adapt
at anything of this sort of physical,
then the pushing comes and the low hung moon
seems a face and its her, toothless smile
beckoning change and love, though she has plenty.
Alex Franco studies Written Arts and French at Bard College in New York. He writes from over seas, but his heart is always in the south.