Hoda Ablan Poems

Whenever I return to the playground of the past
peering into its deceptive spaces
I see your shirt, but not you
your smile, but not you
...

I had a house
a bed of dreaming wood
some pain on the shelf
...

When he went away
I had nothing left of him
but myself
...

Sometimes, at nightfall, I break down and cry
Then I resent my tears, which have illuminated the world
...

Barefoot, they run from their past
from hands waving behind a heavy wall
and trembling mothers who anoint themselves with a final tear
...

You are there, building a home
and I am here, demolishing a memory
Your home, which will be open to all
...

Between us is night with its flickering features
a star, stripped of her gown of memories
pasted bare in distant space.
...

Why, when the wind sleeps
does an exile whistle through my clothes
...

Whenever the cold pavements stretch before me
and the warmth of my quilt dwindles away
I take him from my memory box
and light him, a matchstick of tenderness.
...

My mother suspected that whatever was visiting me
in my sleep would rattle the roof of our house
and that my heart was defiled above all else by love
...