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 If you go home January 17, 2003 The Iranian If you go to where the mountains speak in the purple hued whisper of our foremothers, where you can mark the time in long drawn out sips of tea. Cup the air in the palm of your hands, Put it to your lips And taste the dust in it. Then say this, to the dry winds, so that they may tell it to the mountains who, stuck where they are, will understand: She wishes she were here, wrapped in the folds of your cool, craggy, embrace. * Printer friendly Does this article have spelling or other mistakes? Tell me to fix it.
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