• Two Poems


    Adieu, Jorellie

    And this shall be my last goodbye.

    Do not leave your door— even your windows,
    The leaks in your ceiling open for my voice
    Seal your heart for if I come to return to your hands
    The pieces of my heart wrapped in your shirt
    I shall think of you—the you who loved me—
    Now someone distant
    Someone as cold as the floodwater that soak my feet
    As I pound on your door when I am again
    Homeless in the torrential rains; lost in my longing
    And if I come to you like this
    Looking for the warmth of your arms
    And the embers in your eyes that fired my heart
    And many times burned down your untidy room,
    Lock your doors and seal your windows
    As if my arrival is comparable to thieves of pastries and wine
    Of sneaky felines that raid the food on your table
    Or the landlady coming to get her rent

    And if I arrive at the gate of your house
    Seeing from your window the bulbs unlit,
    Your doors closed and a salivating dog collared to the doorknob,
    I shall know, that the couch would feel terrible
    Of receiving my weight
    That the spoons and forks would be in disgust
    Of my mouth
    And your bedroom would flip me out of the windows
    If I come without your consent

    I shall know by then and it is only right to know
    That your heart like mine had bid,
    The coldest and longest
    The most prolonged of all farewells

    * * *

    Back to the Sugarcane Field

    Your suntanned hair blown by the summer wind
    As we walked the dirt road of your village
    You are now a grown child and I remember you
    As you have forgotten me,
    Our afternoons on the wooden swing tied to the tallest of trees
    Pushing each other off then chasing me
    After I naughtily lifted your skirt
    Sometimes we were bruised and in verge of tears
    We try to wipe our watery eyes with our palms
    And we spit bad words out of curiosity
    The joy of speaking the unspeakable in the absence of adults
    We tortured the frogs, the grasshoppers, the dragonflies,
    The angry red ants and even the good black ants
    That never deserved the pinning of our little fingers,
    But only because it is the fate of the little beings
    And we laughed because we mocked god
    For his impotence to stop our evil

    You looked at me with strange familiarity
    Do you even remember me?
    Ah, look at you.
    The purest of the village
    Your silent lips, that never spoke
    Like the truest of virgins
    Your shy eyes
    That avoided the stares of men, even mine
    Your ripening body,
    A weapon you possess you do not understand
    And men from the cities flocked your village
    To catch your heart
    And you, you laughed at all of them
    Because your heart is pure
    And love, is such a strange thing
    For your innocence

    Your suntanned hair graced by the dust in the wind
    As we walk on this unpaved road
    Your lips that have never known the fingers of man
    Smiled at me as if remembrances of childhood
    Have stricken you with awe

    How can those pure smiles be so unforgettable
    And yet so evil?



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