In Response to Payam Feili’s poem: Eleven

In Response to Payam Feili’s poem: Eleven

I too blossom
in that languid lake—
grieve
for your words
my poems bowdlerized

beneath
fallen leaves
I mourn
my sitting Shiva
my wild rose

in dark prison cells
where sleeplessness
is at no time
impossible, where spring never
reaches any further than the walls

I despair
for my uncle’s only son
in the cold
season of his naked groin
O, how I despair for his lips on my nape

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