SHE sits in the dust at the walls And makes cigars, Bending at the bench With fingers wage-anxious, Changing her sweat for the day's pay. Now the noon hour has come, And she leans with her bare arms On the window-sill over the river, Leans and feels at her throat Cool-moving things out of the free open ways: At her throat and eyes and nostrils The touch and the blowing cool Of great free ways beyond the walls. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW GOOD-BYE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 8 by JAMES JOYCE THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: REV. LEMUEL WILEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA |