How could you have known as you stared across the hazy distance at those Christmas-bright carnival lights, your tiny eyes shining like ripe, black olives, that one day you would be consumed by those lights with their flashy promise of escape and bliss, sordid up close but fantastical across the haze of a mid-summer village square?
You ran to survive but carried a hope as broad as oceans.
A hope that could not be killed by hardened glares, taut fists, and groping hands in the dark.
And now that hope is all that remains.
Now that your smooth, white skin has grown weathered and tawny, ruby lips pursed and olive eyes cured of their shine.
How could you have known as you stared across that hazy, summer field that you would wind up here with nothing left but a slim, dogged hope?

Posted Saturday, March 15th 2003