Cabeiri

Cabeiri

As children, our father told us, Don't

Be Aimless —wandering at night

Was forbidden because, mansions—

He'd forgotten to number them, 

Forgot who occupied them, whether

Hittite or Thracian or what —most

Likely alligators and vampires.

Lavender, lilies waved from window

Boxes on my hall —my home, a box

In an arcade —neighbors told me it

Was an abandoned Florida mall

Amongst skinny pines and Spanish 

Bayonets —no natives around, I 

Knew they'd call me snowbird 

If I met any —on TV the Publix 

Theme tolled and a train crossed 

The St Johns River —turned out

Mansions were men whom our

Father shunned for burying their

Talents —our father prepared places

Here, and our job was to draw men

Out so they would unveil their caches.

I would fold myself into their 

Cupboards with my sisters,

Tongues flickering, waiting for maps,

For the shunned men to unzip minds.