Mortality

Friday, July 07, 2006

Mortality:

My father made kava
With fresh coconut juice
Picked from the dwarf tree in our garden.
Mixed in a nylon bag
And chilled before drinking
Every day.

Before he died
Doctors put tubes down his throat
And the brown liquid
Kavablood
Poured out
Thickly.

The words that are spoken
Are lost in transit
The laughter caught somewhere
between my mouth and eyes.

And a smile is really solid tears
The face that you seek
In liquid prisms of quick silver
Evades you
Hides in the blind spot
That you pretend is never there.

The immortality that we wish for
Tie us to our crimes and indiscretions eternally
Are we lost
Or in a
Constant state of finding
Ourselves
In strange and dark places.


Frances Cresantia Koya

Filed under : EDITION  -

ARCHIVES of July , 2006