Sunday, September 15, 2013

Once, the Egyptians...

Once, among abundant tree groves
carving our initials
the long trunks, we
of our lives
in space and time
and floods of biblical proportions.

And trees, witnesses of all life and death, growth and decay, tears and laughter
engulfed us
in our cradles
offered pulp and fruit
chisel and hammer handles
to clear the land
and forge new paths
to see above our heads
to worlds beyond our immediate reach
where new standards
could be etched
on paper
traveling by ships
or light source
the Egyptians
had no knowledge of
when they mashed that pulpy tree
to mark the growth of their civilization.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Can you hear me now?

I can't believe how this house stands
how its needs like foreign words
strewn about inconsiderately
tire the conversations,
sunny-side eggs for breakfast
named "eggs to dip the bread" by me,
hold- the cream translated to ''straight" coffee by you
each phrase a slap of color on the walls
a new layer of plaster to keep the wind out.

Our aches and broken bones
had to wait to be mended
at the end of soccer games
tap-dancing classes, homework
runs to stock the ever-empty refrigerator and pantry.

We tried, you and I, between drives
and sit-ins, in grocery stores and music stores
packing our private needs into practical things to stabilize
the perfect house
over Frappuccino
and quick runs to McDonald's or Pizza Hut's
mixing spices
dill over pizza, oregano over salmon
two continents
colliding over little and big things
while watching the old black and white
sitting on a Salvation Army couch that was just
like the one your grandmother had.

You were ok with little changes.

I was inpatient with little progress.

Until one day when
words and numbers  themselves codes of conduct
morphed into years and decades
spilled  wine stains on carpets
chipped counters
moldy shower stalls
this house we had tried to construct according to
our individual plans
had grown in size
stopped showing its flaws
and had smells of us we didn't want to eradicate.