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Three Poems

Three Poems E V E J O S E P H siwash rock Sing to me, she said, sing me the name of the man turned to stone. Again and again remind me of the hero-- and what it is I need to know about currents and tides in this burial place. What of the mask and the moon's blue face? Where do you go when you go far away? Here where the river meets up with the sea, oh sing to me, Papa, the story of water. Am I not your beautiful daughter? Sing me to sleep, sing me awake, teach me to see the shape of the old in the haze of the city and all of your ghosts-- is it true that we're made of rubies and clay? Stay with me, Papa-- sing me oh sing me the very first names. canoe builder Porch lights have come on all down the street. In front of one of the houses a white cat sleeps on a pillow in a dugout hollowed by fire. If you could look back, you'd see an old man tending that fire. You'd hear the river talking to the stones, the grass shrugging off http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Manoa University of Hawai'I Press

Three Poems

Manoa , Volume 25 (1) – Jul 10, 2013

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-943x
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

E V E J O S E P H siwash rock Sing to me, she said, sing me the name of the man turned to stone. Again and again remind me of the hero-- and what it is I need to know about currents and tides in this burial place. What of the mask and the moon's blue face? Where do you go when you go far away? Here where the river meets up with the sea, oh sing to me, Papa, the story of water. Am I not your beautiful daughter? Sing me to sleep, sing me awake, teach me to see the shape of the old in the haze of the city and all of your ghosts-- is it true that we're made of rubies and clay? Stay with me, Papa-- sing me oh sing me the very first names. canoe builder Porch lights have come on all down the street. In front of one of the houses a white cat sleeps on a pillow in a dugout hollowed by fire. If you could look back, you'd see an old man tending that fire. You'd hear the river talking to the stones, the grass shrugging off

Journal

ManoaUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Jul 10, 2013

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