Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Transition Ephemera

In the first years
when the Hmong came
they sold their escape story needle work
black, pink and
Mekong River green,
long since replaced on market Saturdays
by cabbage, carrots and coriander.

Yesterday a more recent refugee
a shining face Sudanese
balanced her shopping bundle
with high head finesse
and grace of fluid hip
incongruent on the suburban footpath.

How long now before her teenage daughter
pleads embarrassment at mum’s old world ways?
And this legacy of transition also topples into memory.


Inconsequential said...


Amy said...

I know, I love it when the sudanese women carry things on their heads. They look so elegant!

And they are not embarassed, always have a smile in reply to our own.

ish said...

Alas though, something will bring an end to this endearing custom. I doubt we'll see a 2nd generation of it.

Radagast said...

Where is the horse and the rider?
Where is the horn that was blowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain,
like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West
behind the hills into shadow.

ish said...

How superb of you to evoke this image with the J.R.R.T. verse. Thank you, radagast. So very apt.

Radagast said...

Why, thank you!

ish said...