Omar Berrada
Believe me a thistle will do
away with your hungerfor lush branchesand tacky color
Not the abstracted greens
of surrender oh daughter
of our family follow the flower
that evades capture fades
into pixel pricks the prying
eyes of unmanned hunters
I wished himthroughout my life
Oh daughter focuslearn the work songof smaller creaturesthis forest of branches
is your inheritancecan you name
every twigwill you touch
every leafwith bare handslet your hair danceas you blend into shrub
and rockdry is the landthat holds you
Can you hear the familiar pitchof olive harvest the old tuneof older farmers gathered
for processions yet to comea voice of closenessto the earthThe hand that claps is the handthat kneads is the hand that dancesrepeated gestures on and off the tonguered aprons golden braceletswe are quick to breakinto song
Half an egg in a pool of oilthe sun faces up our doughwill be moist the horizon hesitateswon’t admit to rough angles withthe color purple to slanted sunsetsbeyond forbidden shores did youcapture the thistle twiceI wished himfrom the branch of a tree
The song breaks
A landscape returns
Copyright © 2025 by Omar Berrada. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 7, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets
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