For the Girl Hit by a Bus in Ayacucho, Peru


I.
And now you imagine
Her dancing
In the street –
A fog overhead, the breath
Of an orange.

II.
But here there are neither. 
No girl. No spray
Of citrus.
In your town
Old rain glitters on the pavement.
The traffic light flashes
Green. Yellow. You remember

III.
Her scrubbing the soft
Marble of graves.
You remember her
Hair, black pleats
Down her back.

IV.
She holds her hand
Out for your money.

V.
When you give her
A solé you feel more alive.
She can buy ten big oranges
Or fourteen small ones.

VI.
You remember her turning
Over your hand,
And with her fingernail
Tracing the lines on your palm.
This, you imagine her saying in Quechua,
Is where your life gets good.


Kelly Simon
The Adirondack Review
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poemsThe St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poemsThe St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
The St. Lawrence Book Award for a first collection of short stories or poems
KELLY SIMON lives in Los Angeles with a husband, a brother, and a dog. She is a doctorate candidate in Literacy and Language at University of California, Santa Barbara and is a recent graduate of Fresno
State's MFA program in poetry.  She can be reached at kellyrsimon@gmail.com.