Seeds

Wearing dark sunglasses I would open the door to him

What’s that? He’ll ask

Arafat’s sister, I’ll say.

Circling to the count of three I’ll show him the apartment:

That’s

My

Apartment                        Here is

                                            My

                                            Kitchen

                         Here is

                         My roof

                                                                                        Here’s

                                                                                        A room

Here

Another

Room  

 

We would stop at the navel of the house.

With a swing I’d point from my forehead to the belly: and here

Full of rustling.

Afterwards we shall enter the room and I will steal

Some of his seeds trembling with excitement.