the five petaled oleanders
soon there will be nothing left of me
not a bone, not a piece of skin or strand of hair lost in your hand
the olive trees, the orange trees, the cypresses
will keep birthing fruits and leaves and throwing shades
and I will be resting somewhere far
covered by a foreign land and the black bird
will be singing a morning song
and the sky will carry my eyes to you
but
before I go
before my hands cease to be hands
and my legs forget what it means to walk
I will give you all that is left of me
the yearning for the shimmering water
the hunger for the fertile lands
oh! the lands shifting, the earth sipping through my teeth
I will give you
my crumbled youth, the grains of it
my face ruined with grimace, my rounded belly where our children used to live
I will give you
the softness of my whisper
hold you with sheer force
all your loveliness I will hold, all your sorrow
and when I am gone
you will wash your face with the mountain water
and not forget how I inhabited you, how I nested behind your ear
how I loved you.
