Wednesday, July 30, 2014

During The Cease Fire

A girl stands on the roof
feeding pigeons. Swabs of  bread
litter the cement. The bird's bubbling song
brings comfort -- like the light, lyrical verse
 of a nursery rhyme
Downstairs, her  white-veiled  mother
 is cooking stew. Embalmed in the scent
of garlic, lemon and mint, she feels
 they are still in a safe section
of the city. Wind riles the curtains
where trees mirage their presence
in shadow. She remembers a hillside
terraced in stone with high grass
and olive branches looming on each ledge;
the air soaked in light and sea.
An ancient place  where she walked
lost in a labyrinthine of time
and thought, an incentive
that would give her  daughter a  name
meaning beloved garden..
Crowds chant loudly  in the distance.
She drops her spoon and leaves
to retrieve her child -- wondering
if they will stay safe,
taste the evening meal, and fall asleep
on bed linens taken
clean from their own closet.

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