DESERT ANGELUS

DESERT ANGELUS

…may a hand reaching for something to dip/into a cup of coffee come across the half-moon/floating like an abandoned biscuit in the sky.---From “Noon Prayer” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-22-11

1.

Wish this upon that wasted waif

reaching for a cob of corn on a cold

night among the lean-to shelters.

Pray for this as hard as you can

before the scorching desert claims

his little body back among debris

of sticks, stones, and bones dimly lit

by fluttering fire from stoked ember,

frying the flies gleaned from holes

hiding them in the crannies of boxes

left by a howling army of thieves

absconding with the relief supply.


2.

A border guard sips freshly brewed

coffee from his tin cup, cocks his

rifle at its ready-to-fire 45-degree,

sneers at the child’s shaking body

in the arms of a tremblingly bony

hand of its mother begging for tea

or a tad of coffee, a balm for a cold

night at the gobi, where a half-moon

floats like a half-eaten biscuit in the sky.

---Albert B. Casuga

08-22-11