Thursday, November 6, 2014

when departed

Moved with the wind, we departed

Teach a man how to fish, the proverb said
teach a woman how to sow a button, the old ladies said
everyone left their wisdom for us, before departure
young and vain, we needed to learn how to measure
the heat of water before we fished

I left first,
you objected and I held you back

You left
I objected, but you didn't hold me back

instead, we both wanted to learn to re-navigate the world
witlessly, wireless, like a blind child learning to read Braille
attached to the letter
but we wanted to fall into the traps of safety
 the mother of comfort, the black-widow of worry

I didn't need you to teach me how to fish
 you taught me other skills:
to watch for the season of wheat when it turned gold,
like my hair. You knew better, the fundamentals
You gave me wheat
not to starve, you said
plant wheat, you said
for the seven years of famine in my absence.

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