Poems of Love and Longing

Three Poems On Being

On Being Real

My mind-eye’s image of my body
Is not real, but my body is real.

Like the mirrors in the house
The love between us is real.

On Being Surrealistic

I listen to my mother
Tell her dreams:

Angels carrying rolls of
Persian rugs under their wings

Fly through her windows
Laughing, she waves them in.

My mother sends back
The carriage waiting at the door,

Waiting to take her somewhere she
Doesn’t want to go. To the rider

My father now dead for ten
Years, she shouts:

I’m still looking for my stockings
You go ahead without me.

What to tell a teacher
Who gives me ten words

Five nouns, five strong verbs, and
Ten minutes to write

Who glances at her watch and pleads:
Go! Try to be surrealistic?

On Not Being a Mummy

His presence and four plain
Words out of his mouth

And the unwrapping begins
Hundreds of yards of linen unwind

Layer by layer
Long strips of prayer, unfurl

As I spin, I shed salt
Resin, amulets, false eyes

Heart and stomach
Fill with moisture

Pupil and iris
Light with life.

Skin supples and aches

Esther Kamkar, Palo Alto, California artist and poet. Poems, poetry, writing, published works - footer logo

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