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Museum Pieces - Beloit Poetry Journal

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ALMITRA DAVID<br />

Write that my father<br />

taught me to read the river,<br />

to see what passes and passes,<br />

yet how could I know<br />

the white form suddenly before me,<br />

wavering on the water?<br />

We are coming to the heart of it:<br />

how you changed before you fled,<br />

how you did not recognize<br />

your reflection as you ran,<br />

how your eyes looked back at you<br />

from a face not human.<br />

2<br />

If you return<br />

they will be there,<br />

the mothers in the plaza,<br />

the pictures of the vanished,<br />

the circling, the wheel of prayer.<br />

Or stay, they are here<br />

on the walls of New York,<br />

the pictures of the vanished,<br />

the circling, the wheel of prayer.<br />

Towers have crumbled<br />

more times than your calendars tell,<br />

beyond number your<br />

sons and daughters,<br />

yet you examine the earth<br />

as though that maze<br />

of scratches in the dirt<br />

were a map, a marker for<br />

the beginning of madness.<br />

13 <strong>Beloit</strong> <strong>Poetry</strong> <strong>Journal</strong> Fall 2002

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