She, the wife of his youth ne’er replaced her who bore him in time.
His coming forth, a spitting cobra of bitterness not weaned but sharpened baby teeth, in reincarnation.
No kingdom received, no tender kisses could match his first lover,
no spotless bed, no golden palace, no beauty of flesh could
withdraw him from her fraternal caress.
How he vexed her soul to the breaking down of healthy cells with contrived
and violent accusations?
How did she err to him who magnified and released polished, ancient, itemized
Pygmy darts against her from a quivering teat?
Futile pleas, “What is wrong?” to him who unjustly judged her
Purity and sought to destroy hope on every side with hidden
Gone from natural love were fallen leaves upon the thrashing floor
of their bedroom, consuming her aborted remains like loathsome jokes told
to an indifferent audience.
Her life, hot dung filled with worm fleas that until his bones turned to
Dust would not see happiness, again.
Photograph by David Olkarny