A gray haze over the rice fields.
The black cow grazing with her newborn calf—
long-legged, unsteady—
or trucks going past the high road:
such things only claim
that I am looking out in search of memory,
not death. Those little kisses on my cheeks
my long-dead grandmother gave me, or
the soft dampness of my tears when
my mother didn't notice me
from beyond the closed door of her youth.
Today the dangling thread stops halfway down,
where my hands cannot touch it.
It's not that I wait for judgment.
But at times I see a shadow
move slowly over these, a shadow freed
from the past and from the future,
that contains the footsteps of that childhood
so light I can only think of squirrels
slipping in and out of the mango trees.
i will choose "best answer" for the one who specifically explains it, line by line. thanks!! :D
2007-03-15
12:40:34
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2 answers
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asked by
Susie
2
in
Education & Reference
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