I Am From

"The Street Lined With Trees"

Vali-e-Asr Avenue, Tehran

I finally have permission from my older son to post pieces of a poem he wrote for his English 222 class. Take a look: .......... I am from a living, moss covered bridge, Forsaken near the Caspian Sea, A kingdom to be ruled by a child, the dip below cut by a slow stream, sparks of light over the water, the sun golden on the swollen green, teeming with life and wonder. I am from white sand silver by moonlight, Sharp, moving borders with the black water littered with diamonds, The gods surely play in the star strewn bodies above, The feel of the breeze and the sound of the surf carrying me away, endlessly. I am from kabob sandwiches, made by an old man on a street lined with trees, the leathery skin of the man’s face red from the flames, mahogany hands dancing above them, Putting hot meat to bread, cilantro and a hot, hot special sauce, every other night for years, fifty cents buy a full belly. I am from the alley of Daneshkooy, narrow and L shaped, Buildings unique, each scorning its peers, A weeping willow breathing in the back, Wise, wily cats roam the dumpsters, A life of the stones and slings of children making each a grizzled veteran. The asphalt a battleground, where hide and seek, soccer and seven stones are waged, Where lines are drawn and crossed, It is no stranger to the salty blood of split eyebrows and loosened teeth. .............