Leaning into my mother, I let my eyes hang loose like fatigued insects
Hungry and sad, the long lines of men, like corpses, do nothing to alleviate the anemia

There, in the nadir of summer, the heat, dripping down our noses like honey
Rising off of the pavement like ghosts, they act as victims
We were all victims, savagely taken hostage by this endless depression

The sounds of industrial Cleveland, hanging from the trees like tassels
Welcome to 1934, I think my name was ­Virginia

Leaning into my mother, I let her lean back
Her hands, like leather; German and smelling of raw potatoes

The day pushes us gently and we were lucky
The smiles on our faces, gone; But remained like an aftertaste, starchy and sweet
Melancholy

Strangers would leave the sacks on the porch
Evanescent acts of kindness fluttering in like King's Breath butterflies

My dress, one of the only two that stayed ­Virginia's
Clung to my hot skin like a child to its mother
The fabric well worn allowed my knobby spine to greet the world

That year, I saw so much, staining my eyes with an omnipresent film of soot
I was too young to act, too old to try to pretend
Adulthood greeted me with a broad smile, teeth sharp like shards of glass

Leaning into my mother, I let the truth soak my skin

I let the reaper of poverty stroke my hair

I let the anemia finally take the reins

Cavum In Animus