Because I’ve seen a donkey fly—
spin mid-air after our bus smacked it
in the right flank and flung it from its life
as we traveled in convoy
—on our way to Abu Simbel
where Ramses having been
dismantled, is pieced together
a facsimile of his parts
Because in Rhodes the transparent fish
bit our legs and every beautiful pebble
was once a jagged piece of glass
Because in Turkey my son
cooed at the kittens
sheltering from the midday
sun in a crumbling alcove
until we saw the sibling
skull, open-meated still
Because we learned too much
from the guide’s rote compliments
from the meals thrust through swinging doors
prepared by the same anonymous hands that tuck
sheets around mattresses, slide
pillows into crisp cases and
press the bluest of eyes
Medusa in our palms.
(from Mercy Island. Phoenicia Publishing. 2011)
Thank you for taking the time to read or listen. I’d love to hear your thoughts—I hope that you will share them in the comments on Substack, or join the discussion in the Dramatic Roots chat, where note sharing can become an act of literary citizenship. Post a link to your work, and share another.
I’ll be back later this week with a process journal essay. Until then, may your week be filled with good moments.
Warmly,
Ren
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