Vol 1 No 1 2007
Dialogue by a City Wall
He. I need to smell you.
Come near the window, the city hovers there.
I want to be sure you’re not a girl made of clouds
with only a wound for a mouth.
She. You gave me a book.
You touched the red ink
You said: Look, that’s my name.
Why did you tremble when you gave me that book?
He. I know you already and its not from any place.
You’re the woman whose scent has driven me mad.
I steer through pages packed with syllables and cannot find you.
Tell me your name, come let me write you.
She. The instruments of war
are buried under water.
Incense wafts from the curtained rooms.
A tall tree makes a fountain.
On the leaves of the tree
outside your wall it is written:
I am Sita and Iphegenia, Demeter and Draupadi.
I am not fit for burning.
Meena Alexander