To the women of 'The District'

[Chava]

This is a narrative
Of a disreputable girl.
She walks by the river,
In her lush purple coat.
Carrying a scent
Of unrecognised decent.
Like chili from Egypt,
And oolang from china.
It tells you
She’s been around.

Placed in her turban
Is a budding poppy,
And behind her
Visible in the puddles,
Follows her shadow.
And it stalks her down the mayhem streets
Into the cities bedlam.
She’s escaping it
To walk by the riverside.

And there are flowers here,
The wild kind.
You should never
Pick a poppy.
For they wisen fast,
And then they die.
When their roots
Leave the soft ground.
Right by the river current
That swiftly drags you by.