Wick Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Wick

See myself doing what
-did the then elderly
-when I ran carelessly
-as a boy, before teen.

When went to grandma
-or one of older aunts
-saw them taking a cup
-cleaning with kerchief;
-felt shocked to see any
-wet cloth with spit
-to remove dirt, debris…

I must be living with
-lantern of fantasies
-in a shelf of mud wall
-where flames flicker
-in designs; smoky...

The books of centuries
-of silence, genocide
-of Blacks and Panis
-turn glass to amber.

I hardly see the light.

Do my best to trim
-wilderness of the wick
-but cannot…feel burning!

Rosary of the days
-spin, keep spinning
-to spawn memories,
-give life to the dreams.

Charcoal lines on the wall
-speak of the boys' heights
-each of our siblings…

"What about the sisters? "
-is nailed in bone, skin!