Cotton
Everything went into this —
the needle and thread of our mothers,
the thimbles, their dextrous fingers
and soothing voices, patching
and mending tears in our clothes,
our frayed edges, the children we were.
They were lavish with their inheritance
the way women are, steeped in love
and family, passing it on among
themselves through generations
stretching back to Egypt
and before that past records,
past knowledge and memory,
perhaps all the way back
to Isabelle and Ferdinand in 1492
and before that, who knows,
perhaps back to Moses at Mt Sinai.
We reached for thread
and found our ancestor’s lines,
some remembered
like your pépé and mémé,
my aunts and uncles
and others never known
yet present in a gesture perhaps
or a tone of voice
or the strength to dream.
Everything went into this —
the twirled thread, the braid we made,
two lines gathered into one,
steeped in love and family
and now we look both back
and forward, we shine a light upon
our ancestors
lowering the braid for tiny fingers
to reach and hold
and follow.
Sex, Anticipated
In Darwin it is called the ‘build up’:
moisture gathering in air after months
of cloudless dry days, clouds gathering,
the air becoming heavy as ripe fruit.
It is a slow gathering, unhurried,
sure of itself, day by day moving towards
the horizon’s contraction, the sky’s darkening
cloak. Humidity rises: beads of sweat on skin,
damp sheets, a whir of ceiling fans,
the frogs’ loud croaks. It is the dance before,
moving towards intimacy – a first touch, a drop,
a deluge, earth waiting in its bed.
When your arms open I will begin to fall,
begin my downpour, drops of water
on the hungry leaves, the green fronds,
flashes of lightning lacing the sky, your eyes.
- David Ades 2012
David Adès
moved to Pittsburgh from
Adelaide, Australia in April 2011. He has been a member of Friendly Street
Poets since 1979. His collection, Mapping the World, was commended for the
Fellowship of Australian Writers Anne Elder Award 2008.
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