En Face

Aliki — Sat, 07 Jan 2006 22:29:29 +0000
En Face
	
				               I was dolls; you were spoons.
	
Sister, remember how on my tenth birthday
our parents were hunkered down in Hong Kong.
You consoled me, petitioned my greed, with promises
of gifts upon their return: Suitcases, smelling
somehow fresh, new in their foreignness, would enface
Oriental rugs, as their sprawl spilled forth
musty treasures and souvenirs.
	
				              I was dolls; you were spoons.
	
I recall best the three dark dolls
from Kenya--a father decorated with pelts and spears,
a mother dressed in bright fabrics, and a baby
strapped to her back; also the flamenco dancer
in turquoise ruffles and her partner with matching trim
on his lapels and hat; and the geisha girl in red
and black.
	              Your spoons dangled and clanked
from their display panel, distracted me from the dolls
that I had, by then, undressed and decapitated.  You
had close to sixty spoons from cities everywhere.
I was entranced by their gleaming and clamoring.  Even then
each of us wanted a little of what the other had:
pre-selected collections.
	
				               I was dolls, and you were spoons.
	
Now you’re thousands of miles away from me,
gazing at a world map identical to the one
that hangs above my head. Mine faces
terra cotta and cobalt-glazed plates
limning ships sailing, dolphins flying,
seagulls departing. Yours, shadow puppets
from an Indonesian flea market.
Aliki Caloyeras

En Face
