Song for a Dry Season by EMMANUEL TORRES

It is a wonder on a fine day like this
With the sun spilled on the hardstained planks of walls,
The wind following, the birds singing and singing,
We pick up broken pieces and are poor,


Though nothing had changed our lean and hardwood house.
We can still bear our faces on the cracked glass
And be glad that our is personal, be glad
The bed is in one corner, the table nailed in place.


No special feast lies on the breakfast table;
It is rice and fish and coffee steaming and steaming,
There is no wine but a china jug of water
Will do to make us relish appetite.


Everything is spare and useful to keep alive
Talk– such as the rough-grained texture of table,
The stove burning, the floorboards creaking and creaking,
Familiarity still fails to blunt our senses.


Somewhere rich relations are flattening and flattening
Our surplus, yet ours is the nearer country of plenty
As your full breast tames that babe’s loud hunger and
Your thighs conceive of islands green with legend.


This lot may not be worth a curse. All is
Within reach of want as long as love is able.
The sunhammered tree outside our crooked window
Manages some leaves in a dry season.

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