Turkish Delights
The fruits of memory caked with silence are
Unlike those crystal petal bonbons, sweet
And bright in colors. Memory’s like a star
Collapsed upon itself with weight, not heat,
Far cooler. Keepsakes wrapped in rigid loss,
Our memories seem to think that they will be
Transfigured at some Second Coming. Gloss
And hardness mean they want to be set free
Again. They seem to have forgotten they
Were never sovereign. Brains and hearts have held
Them chained in place, instantly, in display
Inside the skull and ribs, their fate compelled
As harem girls till Caliph or the Khan
Recalls one, verse-like gem, from the Koran.