Bones too persist in your metaphors
also dumb eyes of slaughtered animals

The black and white memories we chose
of our father are of his apoplectic best

Of our mother, her novena of trials
our mythical creatures are confused

languageless in these new stark lands
awkward amidst dragons and unicorns

What you did not say in between ghazals
are days you favor hands instead of spoons

How we cannot be wholly known sister
a part cannot merge into any diaspora

a part too extrinsic to share
too sacred to be rendered novelty

Perhaps later on when fear is purged
from the lack of disquiet, why not?

Animals are faceless on our plates here,
our plates here bloodless, our blood cold

01/07/2013

Posted on 01/07/2013
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