Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Forgotten




Forgotten

He arrived from Lebanon
ready to repair and sell carpets.
Gold and ruby fibers
put the mystery of time to rest.

He doesn't know
the twentieth century
will part like a blizzard,
same as every other.

When night barges in
without hands
ticking won't be necessary
―mountains
and magical mango trees,
will shed the light 
of a lost recollection.

Blood says nothing
of his Maronite prayers
or of his grief in an old
Kobayat alley
where he scattered
his childhood.

But a longing for an Arabic
call to prayer is rare.


2 comments:

  1. where did you scatter your childhood?

    ReplyDelete
  2. In every bar that would let me in as a minor, Judi.

    ReplyDelete

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