Hoarding Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hoarding

It seems like I am now Grandma, a hoarder
Occasions, I open Jewels in rag, rags in chest
In my joy…or sadness to undo memories.

“Goy yerah, o manim ki di.”
Is in fact one of them, of a child
Sat on knees politely, no word till
The guest ate his melon and finished …

“I’ll give you the skin…”
Said mother, promised
“Only if, you behave…”
Boy obeyed.
The melon, kharbozeh, was great
The guest reached for his knife
To remove off skin, the flesh.

“Leave this one, it is mine.”
Said the boy.

I can write books on this, characters.
Many jewels, such as this, are in rags
In the chest; I copied grandma.
A curtain is hanging between us.

Such curtains, my reader, are, I guess
Reachable but ignored; out of reach
Far away from your Chicago and London
Different characters, other are the social
Like Kabul and Tehran, or around.

They are like Aref, young widower
Confused with two boys, needed wife,
Invited, he entered to the house of bride,
women on other side Curtain’s moved, in Kabul, romantic
Came bride and the girls in Kabul, romantic
Observing the groom and giggled without talk.

Such curtains and skins I have kept
In the rags, in the chest, occasions
Grandma, I open, to socials, I smile…