Tuesday, November 23, 2004

The Ambassador's Message
Can it be possible
I've walked away from everyone
I've loved, when I thought
they were the ones who disappeared,
watched them
roll off time's edge,
calling myself "clean,"
an innocent, laughing
like a madwoman,
bloated with truth?

A father, mother.
Lovers gone. Now you.

Was it my solitary nature,
my need to sort out
what you said first
without a quick answer,
for recruiting you
into this hostile mess
as our silences glazed into years,
when I'm the one
who should've stayed put,
bathed your feet in pomegranate juice?

Can I answer this question?
Can a hostage speak freely?

One evening at summer's end,
you locked yourself out,
left your furniture
for someone else
to dust off with a wet cloth;
I, crouched ragged
in a dirt corner, knew
I couldn't save you.

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