POETRY

"Where did those stately cypresses go?"

Lined up in a single row

Alongside a house with an auburn rooftop.

They were the evergreen signs of my trust,

When I would emerge from the street corner

Returning from my morning walk

Alongside the San Mateo Bay

And humming my new poem.

At the sight of Hafez' cypresses*

I would recognize the house in the moment

And pass through the front yard

With red roses on one side

And purple butterfly bushes on the other.

I would open the door without knocking

Walk by the silent fireplace

And large mirrors on the wall

Fearful of dry willow limbs

Drooping from the terracotta vases.

I would busy myself

With cold slices of watermelon

And a puzzle from radio show

Until my love would come

With the charming tap of her high heels.

Before going to work

She would invite me

To a bowl of oatmeal

And a cup of coffee.


She looks back into the mirror

Over her shoulders

At her shapely body

And answers my question with a question:

"Oh!

You mean those dry dusty cypresses

A refuge for flies and spiders?"


September 6, 2010

* Hafez was a fourteenth-century Persian poet. In his poetry, he compares his beautiful lovers to stately cypresses.