|Jul/Aug 2016 Poetry Special Feature|
Photographic Artwork by Victoria Mlady
Tekla at the Grand Parade
Her hair was a maze for lice
that lived and died everyday
without ever being chased
by grimy fingers intent
on ending their existence. She loved
parades, and wished they had
giant papier mache heads
that loomed over everyone,
like in American movies she once saw.
But she has to entertain herself
with the sight of waving knobkieries
accompanied by chanting and stomping.
She's a minority within a minority,
and no one would take a photograph
of her unless mayhem erupts. Even then,
no one would likely recognize her face
or think she once had a daughter,
a cat, and a double bed with sheets
warmed by an iron. She kept her laughter
through the years at least.