November in Naishapur
Between the Golden Gate Bridge tied by a long rope to the
November 26, 2001
We needed father and grand-father whose gifts were rare ghosts in Naishapur
scented with pear trees planted by Omar Khayyam peeking at us in the bazaar
drinking Echo Pacific Brut in San Francisco on Thanksgiving Day 2001.
Zara was in the kitchen wearing a white lace blouse with a red velvet
skirt and black bird of prey ring with silver making shireen polo we wandered
on the hardwood floor always in between the Golden Gate Bridge tied by a
long rope to the Blue Mosque seeking Dali's 1929 sea shells of the Accomodation
of Desire hungry near the pool covered with yellow Fall leaves.
I am talking to myself again I haven't a Chinaman's chance sitting on
the navy blue couch waiting for the Taliban to surrender at Kandahar joining
the English in Afghanistan when Oscar Wilde in 1880 heard the drums beat
at the gates of Kandahar.
We lit the candles placed on torn weeds from the garden where the black
cat peed a collection of actors without a stage going outside to smoke on
a hill in America drinking champaign with orange juice putting our cars
in the garage.
My grand-daughter had grown secretly smoking in the garden wearing black
taking pictures it was night outside when we saw his grandfather's son's
three paintings of a cat under a violin penciled in Belgium a vase of pink
poppies near Tus dark eyes looking at us under a green hat by the fireeplace
sorrow left in the past in the house in the sand among the fruit orchards
of Naishapur leaving when he was twelve to the empty rooms of school in
They said they wanted us to stay until the end of day bring me the santour
and a glass of silver -tipped white YinZhen tea I said with a Bakhtiari
Khan from Shalamzar scented with violets before the sweet pomegranate was
squeezed until the crimson juice was sucked out.
I got up and walked out where the moon was out for Ramadan the boats
were lighted in the harbor California traffic passed in red as we talked
in the car unfurling in white toward Walnut Creek's wild november night.