The Dispossessed

 

Mother

I left my father’s shoes, laces untied,
   beside the suitcase in the hallway.

 I left my schoolbooks, my honor badge
   and my application to University.

 I left the buildings stacked like dominoes and the stature
   of our hero in the plaza where four streets converged.

 I left the rain staining the upstairs window
   and the courtyard where women washed laundry in a tin tub.

 I left pigeons in the park roosting in dusty trees,
   and the Mandelbrot in the bakery, and the braided challah.

 I left behind my name and my good young body
   and I went wandering,

 a refugee, my dark hair shorn
   and a broken comb in my pocket.

 

Father

I left behind my mother’s shadow spilling like grain 
   through the doorway of the house.

 I left the smoke of my father’s cold breath
   and the horses…

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