I thought one day of leaving, but a sparrow landedon her hand and slept. It was enough that I fondle a grapevine in a hurry for her to know I was filled with wine. It was enough that I go early to bed for her to clearly see mysleep, and extend her night to guard it. Enough for her to know my days hover around her and in her view. My mother counts my twenty digits from afar. She combs me with her golden lock and searches in my underwear for foreign women, and darns the hole in my sock. I didnt grow up on her hands as we had wished: she and I, we parted ways by the marble slope, clouds loomed over us, and over some goats that inherit the place. There is no time around you, mother, for sen- timental talk. You knead the afternoon with basil and bake for sumac the roosters crest. I know what wrecks your punctured peacock heart since youve been expelled twice from paradise. Our entire world changed, so our voices also changed. Even the greeting between us fell like a button over the sand, echoless. Say: Good morning! Say anything for life to grant me her dalliance. My mother lights up Canaans final stars and tosses her shawl in my final poem! m.youtube/watch?v=T3CELaOrjb4#
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 04:47:43 +0000
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