Her Father Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Her father

Texted for rendezvous:
"Only me, only you! "

Knew her for some years;
Mostly was of distance
And few encounters
One of them in a wake
But mainly by father.

He talked of a devil
Unaware and selfish.

Now, text of surprise!

She knew why, for what
While I was in a loss!

Could it be to ask me
To support her father
Or drop helping a
Kurdish man, stubborn?

Could it be asking for
A mature intimate relation?

Remembered my time in
KGB, in Khojand
With them and their plans.

Go? No go?
Was like wind
Kissing and hitting me
And I, sunflower,
All alone by myself
In endless, vast plain!

Finally, I made it
On table cups of tea;
Had a book in front "Aria."

Smiled and told her: "Hi."

She thanked me, quite lot
For having given time.

In me was like the jars
That we set, in our shop
Filled with the vinegar
And garlic, closed tight;
They bubbled on and on.

She was an angel now,
Not demon, I heard of;
Not even the host that
Spoke with her nose up.

Soft, naive, broken
Started with tears
And confessed:
"Hate tears! "

Her parents' behaviours
Had taken her to edge:
"Saw a mental doctor,
Sessions after sessions! "

I looked her in the eyes
As if no tongue to talk
While ears were canals
And brain was canvas
For painting her details.

"He is too stingy…
Prefers his money…
To his kids, family…
Always thinks he is right…
He sits, reads, also writes
Poetry and prose…
Most of them against us! "

She said and I compared
The past with present
Of her and her father…
In this way went hours…