We found them on a fence that we pass on our way to Los Angeles
Dresses that tumble all the way to the dirt
With sleeves that hug our wrists
Under the skirts rage whirlwinds of flyaway dust
That stick to our soap-smoothed legs
And make us feel
Like we should be in shower stalls right next to each other
Laughing through the plastic walls
Laughing as the sandstorms rise
And douse our dresses
And sting our thighs until we can no longer feel
The cotton skirts that we never knew
Flew up in the back when we ran
