Mestizo
for Grissel Gomez Estrada
how confined we are
to our languages
who we can and who we can’t
have lunch with
how close we can get
to who have our same words on their tongue
as gooey as ours, as gooey as us
sleeping, steeping in one same tub
one same tongue, one same song
Mexican woman in a different bed
in a different room
wall between us to weep down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:30 p.m. 29/07/07
for Grissel Gomez Estrada
how confined we are
to our languages
who we can and who we can’t
have lunch with
how close we can get
to who have our same words on their tongue
as gooey as ours, as gooey as us
sleeping, steeping in one same tub
one same tongue, one same song
Mexican woman in a different bed
in a different room
wall between us to weep down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
1:30 p.m. 29/07/07
posted by Obie Quiet at 1:26 PM
4 Comments:
language is a foreign landscape we wander in search of shelter. it is good to find another person there
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Thanks, phil yaa, for stopping by. I remember, at university in Memphis, a hundred years ago, a girlfriend and I used to visit a rose garden, near campus and we'd traverse or wander its lanes, romantic to a degree, and in ways I probably never was before nor since. Wow, I have just suggested that your, with your eyes, walking the lanes of my poems, is a comparable event. Am I flattering myself? Maybe it is the colors, like flower petals, the computer permits me to add, which established such a simile in my head. It is then accurate and objective after all. Wanted though, to assure you of this; when your eyes seem to walk among my lines alone, you cannot be, as the author, your friend Obe, is with you. A friend, Desiree, a graduate of Oxford and Cambridge, earlier today gave me an obe. I've decided to wear it.
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