The Apple of Cordoba
I went to Cordoba
where the child slept petrified
beside its own echo
also petrified
slowly deteriorating
by creation
I went to Cordoba
where the child slept petrified
beside the apple tree
shaded in the nothingness
the kind that slows life in the seconds before the end
I went to Cordoba
where I sat by the child
separated from its dreams
painfully divided in the absurd
( the curse was a birth-gift I tell the shame
who is also a birth-gift and knows it)
In Cordoba
I knelt down beside the petrified child
by the apple tree
then I left
with a green apple in my palm
knowing I am like this fruit
unable to lead an understandable conversation
All rights reserved, ©Lourdes Segovia Castle.
Poetry by Lourdes
Read 1119 times
Written on 2006-06-17 at 11:33
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