Honeybee Read Online Free PDF Page B

man traveled all the way
    from England to thatch the roof.
    It’s a dying art.
    He worked by himself
    for three whole months.
    Tiny windows,
    cobblestone walk,
    the roof smells of clean broom straw,
    fresh air, meadowlands.
    Now, when we stand inside it,
    everything complicated
    falls away. You think whatever you like,
    okay? We don’t have to match.
    Look how the lattice of light
    falls across all our feet.

There Was No Wind
    I don’t know why I would tell
    an outright lie
    to someone I never saw before
    but when she asked
    Did you close this door?
    in an accusing tone
    I said No, the wind closed it
    She gave me an odd look
    pushed the door wide open
    and left it that way
    I felt strange the rest of the day
    walking around
    with a stone on my tongue

Companions
    She lived with words in a tall white house.
    Hundreds of books lined her shelves.
    They smelled like time, they smelled like rain.
    Fanning the pages, she smiled.
    I was ten when I found this friend.
    Cherry pie steaming on top of the stove…
    We sat till it was cool.
    She lit up like a lantern when I rang.
    Tell about your teachers, your work .
    Who’s the bad boy again?
    Have you seen that dog that bit you under the eye?
    The plates were stacked beside the pie.
    Her husband had died before we were born,
    but she didn’t live alone.
    She lived with words.

For a Hermit
    1.
    The hermit Justiniani walked across Europe
    after refusing to take his final vows.
    He walked across the colonial United States,
    coming to live in a cave in southern New Mexico.
    Once he walked from Las Cruces
    to San Antonio
    for a little visit.
    Justiniani led mystical prayer gatherings,
    conducted healings in living rooms,
    then walked 20 miles home
    to his dwelling in the cave.
    People worried he might not be safe,
    living alone in those wild times,
    as opposed to these,
    sleeping without a lock,
    or even a door.
    He promised to light a fire every Friday night.
    They could see it from town.
    When the fire didn’t appear,
    he was found with a knife through his back,
    wearing a thorny girdle of the penitentes ,
    â€œanother unsolved murder” of those days.
    Justiniani, pray for us,
    our secret sorrows,
    our inability to walk so far.
    Pray for the signal fires we fail to light,
    that we will have the power to light them.
    Pray for the battered, unchosen people.
    We have not come far at all
    from your time.
    2.
    Your diary sleeps in untranslated Italian
    in a locked glass case.
    When I found out about it
    I went a little crazy.
    I need to know
    what you knew.
    3.
    The ceiling of your cave is charred.
    Along the path, clumps of cactus, desert flowers,
    chips of flint.
    I stood inside, trying to imagine which way
    you slept in there,
    pointed out or in, listening to the echo of birds
    over Dripping Springs Road.
    Please grant us the depth of your silence.
    We are lost inside the world.

Letters My Prez Is Not Sending
    Dear Rafik, Sorry about that soccer game
    you won’t be attending since you now
    have no…
    Dear Fawziya, You know, I have a mom too
    so I can imagine what you…
    Dear Shadiya, Think about your father
    versus democracy, I’ll bet you’d pick…
    No, no, Sami, that’s not true
    what you said at the rally,
    that our country hates you,
    we really support your move
    toward freedom,
    that’s why you no longer have
    a house or a family or a village…
    Dear Hassan, If only you could see
    the bigger picture…
    Dear Mary, I’m surprised you have
    what we would call a Christian name
    since you yourself…
    Dear Ribhia, Sorry about that heart attack,
    I know it must have been rough to live
    your entire life under occupation,
    we’re sending a few more bombs over now
    to fortify your oppressors,
    but someday we hope for peace in the region,
    sorry you won’t be there to see it…
    Dear Suheir, Surely a voice is made to be raised,
    don’t you see we are speaking
    for your own interests…
    Dear