The Year of the Dragon
My parents’ fire spent, time seems to drag on
until the cosmos, smoking, spawns the dragon.
All my waters burning. Every look a flare.
Every boy I love turns me to dragon.
Stretch your wingspan’s luck between two rivers.
One, an ancient stream. One, a pipe to drag on.
Stalactites stab me, living in this cave—
to leave or enter in, pass through the dragon.
The marrow of all living things is soft.
The marrow of the universe is dragon.
Einstein, stumped. The Theory, elusive.
Beneath their grand equations skulks a dragon.
The daily drip-drip-drip of tedium
feeds the growing fires of the dragon.
I sit alone each night and dream escape.
Then wake each dawn to stroke the seething dragon.
We’re at each other’s throats. Why stay together?
Old friends walk off and shudder. It’s the dragon.
You smile and whisper in my ear, Siham, I promise.
O garish words! You made me kiss the dragon.
by Siham Karami
Twitter: @SihamKarami
Editor’s Note: The lines of a ghazal usually yearn towards something (love, spirituality, understanding), and this one does not disappoint. The dragon image is a metaphor upon which the reader may meditate.
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