Wednesday, July 13, 2005

[Druids, these revealed children]

Druids, these revealed children
Blue umbrellas in the high blaze
Wandered through the plaza de las islas
Came to rest against white stone,

An old man the youngest boy,
Squatting, thighs to calves,
Shower shoes, green shorts and tee and
Someone’s heart broke
This afternoon of orphan time,
Tiny Buddha in limestone shade,
Sister lying prostrate in the heat,
Lifeless, eyes open to searing blue.

Mother wayfare broods,
The bottom of her belly—copious—
Stars fall in the lap of he who wanders
Heart razor-wired to memory
Crossing dreamland, crossing shattered, crossing
The last stitch of time
These gathered ruins
These splattered lives
A boy whose syllables sing the song of 46:

Sundays with fathers missed?
Pennies in his mother’s pocket?

Gather him, gather you
Riverbound, this one cool and
Clear. Gather. Cool hand upon his brow.
Gather. Birdsong in his heart, gold
Sun in his mouth. Count toes, count fingers—
Map the caverns from you to him,
Undertow of privation
Fields of weary, this weary world,
Worry world, worry.

What to give him, he me, my
Pockets too were empty—

My eyes. Here: take my eyes,
New and old,
The palms of your hands,
Cat’s eye, tiger, steelie

Etch your circle and let fly—


Blogger Dee Martin said...

This felt like pain's story being told lovingly if that makes sense?

7:57 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: An orphaned family down in the plaza one day, back in my bus-riding (and more orphaned myself) days: they broke my heart, particularly the caretaking little boy, attentively watching for the bus, crying out with his damaged tongue. I think this is the short version.

8:20 PM  

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