AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT

Now my father must come to terms,
moment by moment, with his other language
to which time is no barrier;
when he was forced to give up
the simple words, I heard many sounds.
I could not accept
that I was crying, so I set out for a place
where I thought I would encounter my father,
a place where I could not believe I’d never
meet him again. At that noon hour
there were benches and bodies that belonged to them
by right of poverty, but what I lacked
was different – the trees did not seem
like trees – perhaps more like heavy sculptures then,
when I spoke to him in words he could not
add to, words he continues to say
without lips until
this very day.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MOMENT