Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










The Sun Moves Slant by Sheida Mohamadi

Translated from Persian by Sholeh Wolpé
 
 
Too late now,
too late to undo your buttons
and let loose my liquid blue fingers
on your chest,
to turn the lock in my throat
and hear the halla halla halla
of your coming
from among apples and lemons.
Your shadow moves slant through mine.
 
Why is it that your kisses no longer leave
their mark on my purple dress?
Why is it that your body’s tangerines
no longer swell from sucking my breasts?
Your voice no longer sends frogs
crrrrrrrrrrrroaking along my thighs.
 
Now, each time your voice grows cold-blue,
you snuff out your cigarette in my eyes
and half the clock’s circle face
sinks to sleep in the ashes of my hair.