War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

november mourning

a thousand left right lefts
from hummingbird chevrons in blue sage,
summer’s last roses, the rosemary,
that august day of white lilies and lavender
fresh-cut for our grief
I arranged in green glass vases;

the burqa we took to—
not silk, not soft new lamb,
but rolls of rusted razor wire
tangled not woven—
four months later, its cuts, its scars,
only we, yours, ours,
this grey mouth of November morning,
still feel, still wear, still see.

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled november mourning. It was posted here on November 18, 2008.


Complete diary archive