Sunday, July 29, 2007

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

4 Comments:

Blogger Phillippa Yaa said...

language is a foreign landscape we wander in search of shelter. it is good to find another person there

Friday, August 03, 2007 5:46:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

Friday, August 03, 2007 9:11:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

Friday, August 03, 2007 9:11:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

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.

Friday, August 03, 2007 9:33:00 PM  

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