By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

COME alive, please
bring me to the hill
where you used to caress
my hair
sing me La Mer
in baritone, in between
shots of gin, in your cherished
old-fashioned cocktail glass
again, and again

tell me again, about Poro Point
the flickering lights in those huts
the Lighthouse from France
brought by Spain
the air station built by the Americans
tell me now, now that I stare at evidence
that we were, occupied

tell me about your friends sending
boxes of medicines, envelopes
of cash, in the trash
tell me about nuns, picking up
heading to the mountains, in the dark
where relief of the bladder
and the rectum occur
in the shadows of trees
witnessed by the pigs
who ate them, after

tell me, even the things
you withheld, like the carpenter
you sent to my house, a very quiet
reserved man and a woman
who, were being tailed by intelligence
as enemies of the state,
trained to use arms

tell me again, now that they are in
working with the very institution
they once fought against
justifying support for the corrupt
now that their hands are occupied,
by the confidentiality of funds
the legitimacy of a gun
the sweet taste of power

tell me you love me, as I might love you
despite you, not telling me.
kiss me, tell me about the light
I cannot see. #

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments