whore
this poem dates from
the time my mother became
a whore.
now her dark lashes sing
a lovely song and
in mirror after miror she
has a new face.
the city that we call ours is a strange beast,
it will curl up now in my mother’s lap
and fall asleep.
witness
as the men took turns on
my mother I
thought one of them had
taken a particular liking for
what appeared to be a rose
between her eager thighs.
now in my dreams I
often talk to a stranger whose work
has considerable verbal ingenuity
but fails to describe
the appearance of the rose.
the legitimate son
that’s
my father and
his legitimate son in
heaven’s garden.
all the fruits and
the flowers in
the garden are his.
all the beasts in the
garden wait their
turn to kiss
his ivory feet.
the legal wife
that’s my father’s legal
wife playing with a
serpent.
the serpent
will slither up her hair
at night.
the serpent
will bring her jewels
from the east.
the serpent will be her slave.
the serpent will suck her ruby lips.
the serpent will bring her a red rose.
the serpent loves my father’s legal wife.
Copyright © 2006 Rajiv Roy
