kosemat
Things of Home
​
I need something that burns as slowly
as the sand that blackens my heels.
From there, I am one matchstick away.
A television running by, a chest
on feet.
As the leaves, and tears of my home
kissing black trails onto my cheeks.
Eyes Closed
​
Heavy
Time trawls through my mind,
crystallized honey,
at the bottom of a jar.
I wait, for my
slow skin stretched taut.
It breaks. Like ants, baited
between two pieces of flesh.
A thought and a complaint.
The Wheel of Life
I invite you in the language of my veins.
Early mornings boiled in bent copperware.
Stranger days, break the fast in unbroken winter air.
You cannot touch these offerings
yet. Altogether, we must receive our share
my darling daughter. Tuck my hair behind my ear
You’ve grown strong, each year
The table is set, these ancient grains
The ritual of absence
Involves four-in-the-morning meals
Lambs slaughtered for giving,
crooning prayers, tears and tears.
Orange tomato feta, olive-colored remains,
The crumbs of my mother’s love and growing pains.