Valet - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Came over like always.
His skin dark-black; in heart though is cloud.
He too is immigrant; not like me, African.
“His last day; on his way he stopped and whispered.”
He tells me of a past; of a man who gave him a valet…
Story grows rich as if seed “It was to plant love.”
And he talks in Timmy; on table his coffee.
“Greenback is long gone; his valet a Bible, a Koran.”
Passenger went to Rome; Sheba’s man, there remained.
“Thankful he of my help, I’m thankful for his care.”
People come, people go. He’s talking, coffee’s cold.
I lift hand to wipe out; tearful are my eyes.
“Where are they, the good-days; love given, cheap as hay.”
Timmy’s filled with the youths; unaware of past’s good.
“We can be, ” he goes on “human, as we must.”
I write part, ask for rest, he notes down:
“A. V. Reconosimente”
It must mean “ai nostri ricordi comuni”
With his words also mine; and knowing
“The man’s wife, Egyptian; sister of…
The Ghali, UN’s chief, Sec-General”
I’m writing; I’m obliged:
“Love is seed; must be sown.”
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