They pruned the trees
Naked buds
Held in the womb
Frozen in the white lust of winter
A shadow behind the window
Trims her hair by the heater
Hoping it grows taller by spring
And catches the eye
Today, too
I’ve lost myself
In the clutter of the room
Making boats and kites
Out of the morning paper
They say
The bandits
Have taken the neighbor's daughter’s dowry
And from the towering heights
Of a garden tower that grows each day
They’ve aimed at my paper boat
On the newsstand’s counter
The image of a woman repeats
Hanged from Nature Bridge
I thought
Maybe with the gray magazine cover
One could make a helmet
To shield the bare heads of this year’s infants
From the shrapnel of exploding hate
Out of nowhere
A teacup spills
On the paper spread across the floor
Forming the shape of a monster
Disturbing the child's dream
Hanging the shame of tomorrow
On the balcony of the house
She says
Stale bread is not worth eating"
"The cheese is moldy, too
And the bad omen of the day’s news
Defiles our breakfast table
I huddle in the corner of the yard
And stare at the rain’s footprint
On the edge of the wall
I wish I could
Tie a swing
To the branches of the tree
To surrender myself to the embrace of the wind
And feel the weightlessness of a kite
I’ve heard
That every time
The garden is pruned
The weight of the earth
Lightens
With the flight of birds
Arsalan-Tehran
13th of Dey, 1399
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