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Patricia Jabbeh Wesley | City

At night, it is like fire
spreading beneath us.
This vast city
aflame, and the plane
groaning.

The city is more beautiful
from the sky at night.
At noon, it looks like
a worn-out garage,
a thing in the middle
of swamp country.

All the buildings are worn-out,
rusted to the bone
of steel, twisted
to make way so life
can go on.

Everything is bent and broken
along the hilltops.
I touch air to see if air
is still there.
The touchdown,

and we appear all worn-out,
too, like the city, broken.
All the birds
moved out long ago.
The trees too.

(From PRIVATE 36 – AFRIKA, p. 21)

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