Monday, March 11, 2013

Gate poems by Deema Shehabi!

Gate of Freedom
by Deema K. Shehabi

Lovers of asparagus, alive 
as hummingbirds, place their nostrils
over a low cloud, wet of air.
It's the year of green hills
in California that early spring;
the evening is blue-split between the first
snow on the mountain top,
and a computer screen, where news of a man
whose body is eating itself, scythes
the long-stemmed breaths in the room.
"Do not weep if my heart fails," he writes.
"I am your son."
Gate of Love
Son I have. Your hands bulge
with pear tree blossoms.
You are bellow and sweat,
hunger and bread.
I part the fog to find you
through a grimy crowd of kids.
Before you give in to the affection
that soils you in public,
I'll promise you a truce.
Gate of the Sun
Bristling down the chemical- 
scraped hall uttering 
assalamu alaikums to the young 
patients from the UAE, their heads sagging 
to the side, their bodies a shrine 
to tumors, husks of overgrown cells, 
the chemo fountain. One boy 
stares through a sieve 
of darkness, hewn around dark-gray clouds.

Gate of Peace
"I have so many sons withering," 
I whisper to the Chinese elm, as news 
of the man whose body is eating itself, 
disputes with the bresola on crisp baguette 
that I'm eating in a garden

among the flung-out 
blue jays and limping Daddy long legs. 
No hymns left; 
only a small neck 
the sun gnarls through.

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