In Australia
By Laleh Khalili
August 16, 2000
The Iranian
She
My mother grows lemons and marigolds
........in her exile garden
........and hangs her laundry on sunny
clotheslines
My mother drinks her bitterness down with tea
........and finds joy in pistachio green
My mother, she wants me to find myself
........a rich physicist or a family friend
........who knows the silhouette of my
discontent and sorrow
Her hands are still the firm benevolent hands of a woman
........who knows the anatomy of
........diseased bodies - even if her hands
- gentle and generous-
........are dormant these warm winters.
He
Forlorn backgammon in the heat
........and liverspots have
........brought you to your knees
Outside the border of silence
and fear
you can now comfortably grow
into the dimensions of your
age and feel the
serenity of a political argument
being just that...
You fall asleep in front of the television
complaining about the absence of real news
of wars and genocide and forgotten limbs in
mass burial grounds
in certain parts of the world
You cook the food lovingly and call your daughter in the New World
and your brothers in the Old
and you quietly try to forget.
