This is the sound after rain -
the burr sanded smooth,
the pounding
that hides my confusion.
Then, when it stops,
the placing of directions,
none of them easily understood.
I fell and skinned my knee like a child.
Old men without teeth laugh
and speak about me
in three languages.
They have lived
their lives placing dirt and stone before bone.
They are easily understood.
I am warned to be silent here, wear rings, speak little.
