Chèvre Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Chèvre

Each morning
well aware of the work
I closed my eyes tight:
"I'm asleep."

And parents, who knew
accepted to be fooled
by kindness,

To shepherd
they took the animals
but at home their babies
kept calling.

Sun passed the midday height
went to west, at sundown
canvas-turned the sky
became gold under red.

Of clouds mama said:
"It's blood…"

I stood facing sun
a being; not being
seemed sky.

Then returned sheep
and goats
rushed back home
raising dust.

My mother or sister
in their hands, pot, bucket
milked the poor animals.

Of that milk, they made cheese
and yoghurt, and dairies
that cheese is what French calls:
the Chèvre.