Forgetting the beach
the uprooted tree
its side in the sand
worn smooth by the waves' restless tousling
softened and sogged
salted it lay
el arbol del mar
la reina muerta
I cursed my father
overturned his empty wooden bowl,
spilling crumbly remnants of dinner into his lap
in the split second it took to think
this act of violence
I am lost
it is rare that I find myself in pinches of rage
even rarer that I feel compelled to express myself in Spanish
both acts being less characteristic of me
than wandering the beach, worshiping tree carcasses
all being theatrical gestures of experience
the nobody playing the somebody
No comments:
Post a Comment