A whole 35 years without olives’

my mother’s hand/soft as a cotton wool caresses my foolish head/five fingers! couldn’t hold hopes/crazy waves Mediterranean hey! Five Fingers caresses/with the hard of her hand can’t speak/blonde haired meadows blood ejaculates from the soil/ on to her marigold butter meadows too many deaths/Mehmet, Huseyin, Andrea, Yiannis... and their unknown graves of my day-to-day desires/it is not the waiting we need should i grow my belly bigger/as if precious, as if? like my mother i swell/every single dying cell may keep and bring peace olives in my hand/i am smaller than the tree as its hard green fruit not gathered falls blind! Gunsel Djemal 5/9/2009 Bromley Road-London