Beside My Childhood’s River

This is not a ghazal but it has birds and loss,
Down on the sand flats is where I am.

Sixty years ago my father dropped
A sand dollar into my hand—

Blind kid in light so vast
There must have been gods—

Egyptian curls you could read
On thin skin, first Braille.

This is not a ghazal but it has birds and loss,
Down on the sand flats after years

The old folks gone, the river
Crowded with houses,

Rich men’s houses painted red
Two cormorants calling

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto