KR OnlinePoetry

As the night is a colony that will not wait

For my parents, Mohamad and Maha Sabbagh . . .

As the night is a colony that will not wait
And all the daylight-days’ foreboding is
A tune played belatedly, double-crossed
On the instrument of the mind,
I write this urgent message line by line.

Mother of my will, father of my thoughts

As I turn this corner metaphysical,
Call all my yesterdays forgiven at a glance,
Say two and two is now fork and knife,
Not the four-square rigid stance
Of number, drilled number—

And for all your lies, after all the years
You’ve treated me, medically, O so medically!
With those parentally-sweet, singed
And doucely-tinged pliers,

Where I was a twisted screw in the minuet,
In the wooden battlement
Of family

Mother of my will,
Father of my thoughts
, you’ll
Be the platitude gimme’s once again,
The inversely-proportioned
Begetters of the bill
I owe, owing less, growing happier
As I turn with age.

In my current heart there is an acorn:
Let it strap on its burden of green-fringed light
And become the upward avenue for
A wetted mouth, tongue a slipstream,
Words spread out to all in all like
The moon’s baby white.