Casida of Eternal Waiting

~ after Lorca

I too want to go down to the well,
but I don't want to find a heart like a pin-
cushion in the green water, looking up 
at the walls from which it fell. 

Today we are all wounded.
We carry our sadness like cups
through the rooms, looking
for a basin not yet full.

Today we are waiting to receive 
a sign that doors do open, that we 
have not been abandoned to death, 
that our hunger to be seen will be fed.

I will use the needle to unstitch 
a tight seam, and the pitcher to irrigate 
the sudden parched flowers. Who 
of you are still talking about luck? 

Tomorrow's wound 
has not yet arrived. Let it
spout its promises as if we
haven't learned to believe. 


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