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Click hereWe recline like Ottoman Pashas
under olive trees
the Jordan valley rolled out below
A Madaba mosaic
mapping time and tribe
We eat bursting peaches
irrigated by the same water
That baptized John
And grown behind the new walls
Of Jericho
My cousins eyes sparkle
green with crusader mischief
he clasps our grandmothers
white hands
in his brown ones
and sings
Ya, Tayta!
Speak to us of LOVE
She crosses solid ankles
Rolls her eyes and snorts
Love?
What do I know of love?
I was married to your grandfather
At sixteen
No one ever asked my opinion
Love had nothing to do with it
What do I know of love?
Our laughter rings out
Echoing through the arid hills
Carrying, I think,
Across the Jordan river
To where the peaches grow.
I was immediately sucked into your poem in a light-hearted sort of way, reclining with the Pashas, but soon my eyes grew accustomed to the bright sun and I began to notice the gritty reality surrounding solid ankles and a longing for the peaches that grow in what has become forbidden territory.
The art of the poem is deftly transparent triggering a flood of my own impression of a people stuck out on the burning sands.
one must cross the Jordan where bodies float. TK U MLJ LV NV
Tzara- you are right about the capitalization. Somehow it got switched to automatic line caps. I would blame my computer, but truth is I overlooked that! Thanks for the kind words.