Goddess at Dawn Emily Hampton
In the quietness, my sun shines 60 watts
through the lacy smog lampshade.
In white, I watch from the steps of the Prince Palace
Hotel, chin in hands on knees. Empty streets sigh
in the blink between nightlife
and day job. Even ever-present silk-shirt sellers
and denim-vendors sleep, tarps and cardboard
stretched over roadside stands.
I breathe salt and trash
and the river a block away, knowing
though Bangkok melts into fog every direction,
the sky goes on forever.
A yellow spider scurries
from my sandal to the sidewalk.
It whispers, “I am the spirit
of the City of Life, and so are you.”
I have seen this city sleeping
and I know it when it screams,
roads humming with rainbowed
taxicabs, but my city is made
of smaller things, like a yellow spider
or a white dress. In a breath
I wake Bangkok
to meet the new year.