–after Rumi
In this house of – and –
we ran from a home we never really made.
No cotton. No basket of bread. The candles were almost too—
necessary to the arrangement. He said: organize yourself.
Light lengthened water, canals brimmed candy-colored houses
older still than the city where we met.
Days of endless day— something never said stretched across the
continent across banksides across tongues. Do not look for your words
here Still it was—roast chicken or kale and— copper and
gold-plated spires and sea—a shared plate, a covered market.
And when we lost the light——days of endless night—searching
for the moon that could not be seen. The eye and the lamp
are different lights but you—said union. A raging river running
toward the sea, all drops go to the ocean.
And while we spent so much time seeking shore and sand,
unmoved by colder, deeper ports, the Northern seas — secrets
like pomegranate seeds—Every story forming itself into—
the terrible collection—tavern blood sacrifice—
And when you said now the words are over—packed into three bags—
And when you looked back— he turned to the January light—
dissolving into winter wind :
bitter pillar of salt.
–Jennifer Reimer
Jennifer Reimer’s first book of prose poetry, The Rainy Season Diaries, was published by Quale Press in 2013. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in: Denver Quarterly, Tinfish, Puerto del Sol, Weave, and Glass. She has an MFA in Writing from the University of San Francisco and a PhD in Ethnic Studies from UC Berkeley. Jennifer is the co-founder and co-editor of Achiote Press. She currently lives and works in Ankara, Turkey.
Copyright 2017, Jennifer Reimer