Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Crossings

To the new Syracuseans
“You, waiting for the snow,
Don’t you want to come back anymore?
I cry out for them, in the rain,
In hope that they are listening…”

-Talal Haydar, from “Wahdoun (Alone)”

They cross over, armed with the night on their wings,
the night laden with the smell of mint, and cardamom,
and air thick with company.

They cross over, chests brimming with song,
lips parted just so, enough for words to escape,
words whispered right before they turned the corner,
looking behind one more time
at the world as it was,
at their faces, brave and adoring,
and hopeful.

They cross over with names written on their hands,
smearing at the touch of nearly everything,
leaving smudges of people on door frames, and kitchen counters,
and all over bathroom mirrors, fogging up with hazy eyes,
trickling down, dewy and damp,
and dancing.

They cross over, feathers frozen,
into roads open wide, like mouths yawning into the sky
and shivering;
into hills, green and empty, and missing things
and people, and chatter—
not echoes, resounding and rambling…

Cross back
to where the days are dazzling
and the nights are blinding,
and in the chaos of the streets
and in the fear, and the noise,
life throbs louder than peace.

Cross back
to where despair lives in hope…

2 comments:

katy said...

i know i said already in an email, but i want everyone else to know too.

this is my favorite poem out of all the poems i've read all summer.

absolutely so.

poshlemon said...

beautiful.