sixteen

we run into green foothills
like the von trapp family
the mountains before us
a wall hiding afghanistan ( 50 miles by crow flight )
dushanbe lit glorious
warmth springing from sunlight
summer bursting outwards
fierce from its slumber

we run and gasp through thinning air
tiring quickly
                  breathing sharply
we eat a simple picnic
and rest on boulders
watching the snow line
melt beneath our feet

revived we slide in slush and mud
skiing in sneakers
                          carving trails in liquid grass
a small village hidden in a valley
we slide and glide towards it
ignoring our impatient bus on the highway
the village's houses are frail
                                        and precarious
thin sheet metal roofs
                               balance and

teeter

a naked man stands in a shower without walls
a flurry of chickens peck at our footprints
funny
and furious

a statue of lenin ( hollow plastic )
                                                as small as the village
                                                bolted stronger than rooftops
stands proud and defiant
on a slab of grey concrete