Photo credit: Annie Spratt
Ode to the Girl with the Sunflower Tattoo
By Khadija Ajaoud
I saw you once, a long time ago
and felt as if we met elsewhere in our lives.
I tried to sing but I stuttered,
and could in no way pronounce
the word Liberta
as you like people to pronounce it.
I killed all the airs then and sank
in the sounds of your voice.
I was frightened to explore you
as well as the thousand little nerves
inside my heart.
You were walking on my stanzas
soundless just as your plastic bags of–
And I, was pretending triteness
telling you about how Picasso met
We were pure as a soft morning breeze
You and I, where did we come from?
Are we from the murmuring of–
the mid-sea swell?
or the wall where scarlet windows burn?
or hope or calm–
or wisdom of the East?!
Photo credit: Eugenia Maximova