Flies,
(black tears of happiness)
crawl down parched cheeks.
Children wait to touch blond hair.
Women stand unconscious of exposed flesh
below beaded necks.
They lead us inside
to the fire
that wards off the stench of dung walls
melting in the blazing winter sun.
Hand-made jewelry is passed on
in exchange for Paula Abdul tapes
and high fives.
We think we have so much to give—
viewers through a two-sided mirror.
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