The Pomegranate Stick By Jason Eslamieh

The Pomegranate Stick

Every Thursday after school
I walk to my grandma’s
Kick every rock laying in the alley on my way
The last pebble stands on its feet and whispers: you are here!
I softly curse and open the door
The sound of screech
Brings back in me the good boy I need to be
Painted smile, obedience and a dash of charm
Hide the war as nothing is wrong
So I sit on the floor holding one knee to my chest
Chanting the Koran with rhythms and
Swaying motions that never end
My thoughts wander to the forbidden land
Where boys question without punishment
Where silence begs the truth in my head
My eyes miss a word or two and my chanting stops
My body still in motion
The long pomegranate stick cuts the air in half
I see my hand pulls back
Just a tad too slow, the pain rushes in my head
Tears fill my eyes
My Pride fights the gravity
The words are blurry running cross the page
The pomegranate stick cuts the air
No tear drops on the page

Grandma is long gone and half a century passed
I learned the Koran, words of hollow and foreign sounds
I still see the bruises on my hands
Dreams of the pomegranate stick haunt me every night but free at last

One Response to “The Pomegranate Stick By Jason Eslamieh”

  1. Jadefaerietriste Says:

    the imagery and the sounds are not lessened even though i have read this poem so many times. why must it always be such a long journey for any of us to be free—is there no way to break the cycle of imposed religious instruction that is perpetuated on each generation with so little thought to the restrictive, horrifying results of centuries of dogmatic tradition so unfounded in truth?

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