Carolyn Forché
Detroit, Michigan

Poem For Maya

Rating: 3.0
Dipping our bread in oil tins
we talked of morning peeling
open our rooms to a moment
of almonds, olives and wind
when we did not yet know what we were.
The days in Mallorca were alike:
footprints down goat-paths
from the beds we had left,
at night the stars locked to darkness.
At that time we were learning
to dance, take our clothes
in our fingers and open
ourselves to their hands.
The veranera was with us.
For a month the almond trees bloomed,
their droppings the delicate silks
we removed when each time a touch
took us closer to the window where
we whispered yes, there on the intricate
balconies of breath, overlooking
the rest of our lives.
Stephen Loomes 26 November 2019
You did have a gay old time, didn't you?
0 0 Reply
Gerry O'donnell 29 December 2014
Water-coloured emotions but with a great impactful ending. Thanks for posting it.
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Chimdalu Ubaka 13 April 2012
Scenic presentation... My childhood memories...
2 0 Reply
Ahmad Shiddiqi 17 September 2009
exotic and flexible. keep writing! ! !
2 0 Reply
Bill Costley 14 June 2009
My daughter is named Maya.
2 0 Reply
Andrew Fincham 25 October 2006
Beautiful. Thank you very much.
2 0 Reply

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3/6/2021 3:39:52 PM #