disquietingmuses


"Washington Platform"  Copyright 2000 Kurt Nimmo



Because of Hands and Bread


Left hands out of the bus window
--Wrists, palms, fingers--
Cannot reach the loaves of bread
Offered by a right hand. Where are your
Bodies, your faces, your mouths?

Go home now.
Soon the bus will leave.
This will be the beginning of your exile.
You will lose the keys to your houses.
You will forget the names of trees and flowers.

Your hand       hand       hand
Reflects on the side of the bus like
A forest in the river.

Your hands cut off at the wrists
Will float in the Great Blue River;
Tree trunks, split buses.

Downstream, under the Memorial Bridge,
Your hands will wave to other hands
Hands       hands       hands
Like your own--
Swollen and toy-like.
This is the beginning of your exile.


Esther Kamkar copyright 2000


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