-wife Is Not A Stone Flower

A husband is, as it should be, the first Immigrant of his wife’s flesh. He believes, as it should be, to be the only migrant to her soul. A prowling lion in him dies as she turns a stone flower. When he strokes her chin, his mind wanders elsewhere. When he disturbs her morning sleep it is for his bed-coffee. He treats her the way a seasoned priest does the idol. She is not a deer to a lion, to lie as soulless, listless. Maybe some prowling lion would step in to plunder her. Ask her why she takes a libertine, Whether his are palms or claws, Whether his fingers fork or hoe, how she, A mouse, bears him, a lion. To assuage the world and herself that she is Not a stone flower, she does so. 21.11.2002