Poem: New room, old photos

Eyes out of focus

in the new room with its old photos

on the peeling walls

a telephone call

a familiar voice

then candlelit silence in

this house of memories.

Incense burns from the pure

altitudes of the Himalayas

(I hear a yak’s neck bell

and see the white crowns

worn by the silent

incomprehensible peaks)

earrings from a street wallah

(a dusty road leads

to the Ganges, pilgrims

and buffalo and bent

white haired women

share it)

a ring from Japan

(a sea of black hair

crowds rising and receding

like a wave into trains, shops, temples

staged photographs)

tigers eye from Scotland

(he unclasped it from his neck

and put it in my hand

candles pool on my desk

sweetness of the

early morning)

the quartz my father gave me

and the shell smoothed

by time

(sunsets over the field

huge silver pot of pasta

feet on the

couch under the fan).

You objects conjure

into reality the memories

that compose me

(a halo of darkness

quivers around the candle’s

base and shadows

move gently)

I feel it all

I see hear touch

taste love know





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