Monday, February 28, 2011
With thanks to Zaina Anwar for sharing a wonderful photograph
and so many other inspiring poems, thoughts, and images.
And here is where the world began,
in cooling shade, in moss and fronds.
The worn out shoes, a mystery.
Some say God’s, but I have my doubts.
It seems they’ve been here all along,
pigeon-toed, size twelve, rained to pulp
in two fine leather faces.
No one dies when my mother cries,
but I dress well all the same, just in case,
and follow suit upon my knees
to please each seed
An insect is a sign of truth.
I hear it sing, I hear it shout.
Library Notes: Added my grandmother’s 1946 edition of Gibran’s Jesus the Son of Man. Added editor, introduction, and illustration credits to The Complete Poems of Hart Crane under Other authors.
“Indigenous Dialogues” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: cosmopolitan hysterical unfairness.