theguardian.com/world/2014/apr
/16/iran-parents-halt-killer-
execution
Jessica Wisenfield (London, UK)
Liz Berry: I found this poem very moving and thought it soared at its best moments.
theguardian.com/world/2014/apr/16/iran-parents-halt-killer-execution
My old head, feather-white, greets yours,
cautious as those once-children.
Your eyes, your eyes, goodnight-closed,
which watched powder billow 'bout jacaranda blooms
and met mine,
Shell-shocked in Tehran.
Are we the same, I and you,
Son-stripped in middle life?
Our sun-struck sons,
Born and bored and raised in angry summers,
given in to harsher springs-
Your throat sounds a siren,
and mine,
hapless mothers.
Remember him, then, once-mother,
as I do mine
My usfur dari, your cageling,
wheeling in unhurried flight
with tearless battle-cry from childish
throat.
And now the radios are silenced,
I give you back your son
(you cannot give me mine)
and chalk dust is settling on the prison dove cote.
poem © Jessica Wisenfield