Her eyes shout “You taste like
Green from a mile away,
And I smell the softness
Of your heart above the stench
From stagnant waters off
The side of the railroad tracks.”
She asks if I waltz, and I say yes.
Her lips creep up the side of her face,
Fangs are bared in playful grimace,
As if she is ready to bite my nose
Like wolf pups bringing
I sit to the slightly on the edge,
But she tempts me to her side
With ring banded in wedding stones.
Taunting polished nails
Scratch the air and make it bleed
But only I can see the scars
Because I have the same ones
Carved into my back.
I close my eyes and feel the laughter
Wash over my shoulders and back,
Holding the cake in my hand,
With no plates to be seen,
The sweetness so intense I breathe
The sugar through my nose
And to my lungs.
She removes her jacket and I
Begin to put mine back on,
Retreating with comrades in blue
Back to a parallel yet unmeasured,
Contemplating behind shields,
Balanced over my eyes,
What poor sailor will chart course
And brush the hair of that
Wild fly trap.
Author’s comment: There is a popular idea floating amongst the foreign men that, especially in the countryside, the single women are painfully shy, while the married women are the incredibly flirtatious. Mongolians like to joke about secret lovers, but some actually do seek extramarital affairs (much like everywhere else in the world). Clearly this idea doesn’t apply to everyone in Mongolia. Perhaps some gentlemen down on their luck have postulated this to explain why they can’t find local girls? Who knows?
International Women’s Day (Prose)