In the West she'd be locked away

[ellajam]

Hi, jc, I love this one. I'll start you off with a few bits that I noticed.

I've posted versions of this one before... twice. I'm never happy with it. Here's another take.


A shadow moves of moss and brown, You may be able to lose "moves", the action is in slip.
feet horned and dusty, her sandals slip 
on and off.
Clear, strong opening.

She ambles with that monkey gait Yes to these four lines as they are, a full picture.
through carts of egg vendors,
boys screaming at their goalies,
and the local station de police.
Her chatters and mumbles don’t stop You need a comma after "don't stop", or you can lose it and "go from spider...".
going from spider to howler in an instant.

The first time she looked drunk-stoned,
I thought maybe she was another glue sniffer
or counts among the illicit alcoholics Tense might be mixed here, maybe "counted".
of this hot, dry country.
 
She must have been educated
before the psychosis set in;
her French, spat out with saliva darts,
is better than mine.

I saw a man offer her bread at the hanout today.
She didn't seem to understand;
maybe her stomach was sated.

I've often wondered if she has anyone,
a sister, uncle, social worker. Him?
But that's just my Western brain,

I think. Because then I remember her wiry hair
tied up with that kind of plastic rope
they string dried figs onto. I'm still in love with the fig string.
She shifts it back onto rough chopped gray
from its flower power place.

There's never a fly too far off.

She is as scenery in this place,
another piece of Oulfa’s puzzle,
and I’m the only one the least bit phased
by her accusing stares.
I like the last four lines as they are, strong end.

Hope this helps a bit.