04 July 2007

A Poem for Independence Day

Dispatch from Tikrit

Now that you're
gone,
our connection
is reduced
to paper,
entrusted to
strangers.
Cuneiform
without clay
tablet.
I unwrap each
letter
as if it were
the flag
of some rebel
organization.
I imagine you
do the same.
Sifting for clues,
a pencil finger-
print or gunpowder?
Sweat
or Tigris water?
In the folds
I find a grain
of sand.
6000 miles
and eleven time
zones wedged
between us.
Our relationship
filters
through with-
out dimension,
a modern
archeology.

4 comments:

tumblewords said...

The poignancy and immediacy of these words took my breath away!

gautami tripathy said...

It is simply loaded with meaning. This is one such poem which makes dwell on the words.

Thanks for this beautiful poem.

Constance said...

tumblewords - thank you!

Constance said...

gautami tripathy-
thank you for your kind words. A tough subject to tackle and I'm still not 100% happy. But I can live with it. :)