Janine Pommy Vega, 1942 – 2010

by Gerard Malanga

She came from a place of no particular consequence
with a vision as wide as the bright blue skies
and lived by her wits, making ends meet,
as they say, in the oddest of places.  The dusty calle.
A rail hub gone blind in the middle of nowhere
to nowhere.  Brush scrub as far as the eyes could see
or the wind as a silent companion.
The loneliness of it all.
The grassy stretch of it all.
The numbers slowly ticking away.
The lack of tradition.  The dog days
of August . . . or was it grainy November ?