Saturday, July 12, 2014
I catch your amber eyes across mine
Between subway stops & grating wheels
Your braided long-grey hair is
A hornet's nest
Everyone shies away from your shadow
Your dusty sandals & clothes showed
where you have been -
Scorched by sun
The train track greases by river bend
Gentle as slow butterfly
But nothing moves you, not a flicker
Sorrow is a bird
Hiding in your pouch
Too long, it has not flown
Too long, it has not eaten
Yet it sings, hardy as cactus
Leafless, spiny & spiky
Coloring your weathered hands
Lost as your native land.
I wonder what grief
has torn your eyes to silt & mortar?
I wonder at the sound of your voice?
Loud as gunfire?
Or soft pebble falling in rain?
All too quickly, the station stop comes
The afternoon sun wrinkles
our faces as we all spring to our feet
man with dead-stone eyes.
Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Inspired by title Sorrow by Claribel Alegria. I have not experienced a personal loss of my own family so I thought of viewing sorrow from a third person point of view.
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~ Happy weekend ~
Picture credit: here