Faye Cuevas

Edition XXXIV

Drift - by Faye Cuevas (Photo by Jamal Saleh).jpgPhoto credit: Jamal Saleh 


By Faye Cuevas

My back aches
an archipelago floating apart
my spine binds the days that had passed

If I were to tell you about geography,
there would be no map making
there would be just palms
of hands that we hold

I will remind you of childhood
of how we made cakes out of garden soil
and lofts of spiders in match boxes
of adolescence-
when pockets were empty yet life was so full.

We will trace where rivers bend and overflow,
where dams swell
so we would not cry at the sight of
sinking boats,

or houses

or children

I will help you remember prayers that we say
when our fathers come home late

or whenever the ground shakes

I will teach you how to listen
to the clamor
that is in the core of your heart
and to be forbearing every time it crumbles

I will sit beside you
as we watch how it splits
into the most beautiful continents
this life will never have.

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