for A.H.C.
i
This was beautiful to me
allowed and disallowed
the sun allowed it but
the people under the sun didn’t
they insisted on the real
while the sun encouraged an ideal
his name meant
‘the sun’
ii
No one could be more different
from me than you: fog and sun
you lived for your family, you said
yet this was your favourite picture of yourself
dressed in black
bent over red roses
you kept it locked in
with your other important papers
iii
Likewise in a formal rose garden
built to overlook the lake
we followed our noses
bent and straightened like chickens picking dirt
first the look then the scent
then the dip to greet them
all the odours of that day were of you
iv
The slow walk back to your home
after our evenings
shining, we attracted attention
neighbours, women especially, wanted to be near us
the summer of our openness
the first summer
v
The first time you cooked for me
you used my hibachi at the park
looking for the perfect spot, we passed
other Asians with large extended families
you loved Middle Eastern food and brought:
six spicy chicken legs, six falafel, six
shish-ke-bab and six shish-ta-ouk
plus salads
there were only me and you
and I was full after one falafel
how many others there were at that picnic
I could not see
vi
For some time after we met
I would be driving along
would look into the rear view mirror
and meet your stern gaze
I would be delighted, would grin and wave
later would speak of the luck of lovers
you would turn your cab away
go back to work
much later you told me
you’d been checking my faithfulness
vii
For a long time you were coy
about the scar
it circled the bicep
made hideous your upper left arm
was it from torture? prison?
you were claiming refugee status
this gave you an idea
and you had me map your body
I wrote down and photographed
all the brown blotches for your file
finally you told me another story
how you were a strong child
a wrestler
how your father rubbed you with oil
after your bath to keep you supple
but that you became ill
and the village doctor
tied off your arm
with cord
did he bleed you?
you don’t remember
but he left the cord on for days
and your parents were afraid
to untie it
so it, the scar, became
a part of the cure
for which the doctor received
great credit
viii
That’s what I always liked about you
you accepted my need for orchids
something that beautiful
had a right to be expensive
also for my books you had respect
though you thought I read too much
don’t think so much, you’d say
if I can’t think I may as well be dead, I’d shout
still I’m glad we agreed
on the importance of the flowers
ix
After your first heart attack
you wept as you watched Dr. Zhivago
watch Lara pass unseeing on a train
on my tiny black and white tv
I didn’t dare join you
one casualty was enough
our daughter needed me
x
Ok
I’m not proud
of my ability to retreat
like all great generals
or at least the ones
that live to retire
I retreat from him
the last time we meet
our daughter
perched between us
no anger left
just cold failure
and we shake hands
briefly
but he holds hands
with our friend
as the two of them
walk her garden and talk
and that’s ok
because he’s sick
he’s deathly sick
and what do I do?
I turn
and gallop away