Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru

The heart’s persistence generates an optimism. Torn willows front a screen of fern. That garden seemed as long as life and at its end my green deceitful sanctuary of uncut grass and thorns.

Sometimes what I remember has a secret feeling about it, as if it belongs to me, like a gift that I can keep and take out and look at when I’m by myself.

Sallow, veined and bitter sweet.

There is a place I can go early in the morning, before waking to the day. Quiet, discreet & for the moment troubled by what refuses to manifest. This is an objective discourse I have with myself, run-on for years with no conclusions. At some point all the paint will have peeled from the house, old weathered siding exposing the original grain. Why paint over it?

Crows of the sky, please tell me
What is found above the clouds?