Some Things Seem Eternal in Palestine
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The melding rests here drying in the sun.
The mix has cinnamon and cloves thrown in
Among the pink and purple petals. Spun
Among them are vexed spices. Makers spin
Them all together in a kitchen bowl
And spread them out to dry as potpourri.
They lie, a delicate melange, the whole
Transforming in June light, a jubilee
Of deadness turning life a bit more sweet.
The cruelty in India, though far
Away, is added to the pickling of the suite
Of blossoms. Life is one concocted scar.
The realtors’ cottage has a thatched roof dried.
There isn’t change. Ignore the picked child bride.
~ Sonnet byPhillip Whidden