Recuperations.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

a poem is a hiding place
one puts there
riddles and where the answers
are placed

i hide there. i am a poem myself.

a poem is a consolation
like mother telling me stories
for my to sleep better at night
away from my own ghosts
and monsters

it is like a pocket in my trousers
i put in there my newly found amulet.

a poem is a railing, i walk and hold
up in the mountain
to prevent me from sliding
and falling

falling out of grace, a poem is
a saving hand,
i hide in its palm.

palm trees lining along the boulevard
cars passing by, screeching and to the
child frightening, and running

towards the bushes and cry asking
where is mother? where is father?
where is brother?

all the questions of this broken world
wanting your answers

as you sip your cold orange juice
under the sun with your sunglasses

looking good at the beach with all
those playing girls

waves keep coming and going
like your thoughts

silent sands, hard stones,
whispering winds, singing sirens,
hermit crab, coming out from its
borrowed shell which serves
as its house.