in a small tent

a scene from a novel, rekindled

in a tent

two women sit in a small tent,
a kerosene-yellow globe in the deep jungle
night; the rain of seasons has begun
and a claustrophobic sisterhood has swollen
the canvas bubble to breathlessness.

(inner) worlds, layered over each other,
within the distended bladder, are molecules
shouldering for elevator space; what
strangeness brings humans to intimacy
beneath the endless jungle canopy, like a blanket
over a dream, fitful and crowded
with scents and scenes, remembered
and grunts rumbling against the tight
ness of the tent

without the sonorous depth of male
snoring, the two tiny female
respirations are free to mix their
dreams, of electric light and self-centered
moments before the make-up
mirror; free to fart and belch
with 'unlady-like' abandon

two women sleep in a small tent,
the weight of vanity forsaken
within the jungle's elemental
definitions; the rain of seasons
has begun and the night holds
no jealousy.