![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbZuaVpDWneEpG5vbwmBlhkiwn55rttzBQVtXRMAMGzgadCT0xPVnj7HRPTPzOAy6ks51ODGAREsN5-LZs2uTZ81syMpGK7nHILYzXVJx0xUa72sNTgCvmJ6uJT5OGptCCNL8LToVfy4/s400/roses_ny.jpg)
Grandmother
.
my grandmother
doesn’t know pain
she believes that
famine is nutrition
poverty is wealth
thirst is water
her body like a grapevine winding around a walking stick
her hair bees’ wings
she swallows the sun-speckles of pills
and calls the internet the telephone to america
her heart has turned into a rose the only thing you can do
is smell it
pressing yourself to her chest
there’s nothing else you can do with it
only a rose
her arms like stork’s legs
red sticks
and i am on my knees
howling like a wolf
at the white moon of your skull
grandmother
i’m telling you it’s not pain
just the embrace of a very strong god
one with an unshaven cheek that prickles when he kisses you
No comments:
Post a Comment