By | 1 August 2016

out of that sack
I came

and that bent flower
the dark room

ancestors lining up
their hands cupped with genes

out of that throbbing
the blood around their hearts

ribs touching
in the dance hall

he in his white shirt
she with her tender mouth

wartime, tolling in their ears
engaged and wed in weeks

out of that hype and terror –
she in satin

with her home fires burning
he, deep in the Borneo jungles

playing Mozart at night
making the mad men weep

out of that I came
and now –

out they come
out of the bending flower

my ancient room
ancestors lining up again

with strangers
slipping in a bowed mouth

a squared chin
and a pang

out they come –
and out

and out
and out.

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