Thursday, July 8, 2010

my genealogy lies 
  deep within a language
rooted in a tangled web of 
  people, families and kinships
  lost or long dead
except in those stories 
  my mother and her mother share 
over evening tea
  listening to complaining seagulls
    on the rooftops
  looking over a vindictive sea
it's a desperate attempt
  against their corroding fragile memory
  against a vindictive time 
a designated mourner by their side 
her son and her grandson
  all wrapped in one

low flying clouds
  and an ominous sheet of rain 
are approaching fast
the flapping towels on balconies 
  hoisted much like flags
are warning against 
  a nondescript danger

conversation twists and turns
histories collide
glasses empty and fill again
  and tragedies follow:
men, fathers, grandfathers
  lost to wars, hunger and 
  other unnatural disasters
women, mothers, grandmothers 
  lost or left behind 
follow in rank
eyes fill and empty again

seagulls are eerily silent
  watching the sky for a sign
  through a thick jungle of 
  satellite dishes 
but the rain shows no sign 
  of abating

so, my genealogy lies 
  deep within a language 
  spoken by ghosts 
  of a terrible history
alive flesh and blood
  in these old women
witnessed 
  by someone who cannot
by someone whose history 
against the tide
  lies somewhere else

as darkness rolls in
rain and stories both cease
leaving their thunderous
  footsteps behind
towels retreated inside
where vacationing families
  gather over dinner and tv

seagulls received their sign
  they had been expecting
  and left
i am still here