Practical Aim

After great pain, what would the body learn
that it does not already know of relief?

When that fire-truck has raged past,
what do I rediscover about silence,

except that I would always miss it?
Do trees mind if it is the same wind

that passes through their heads everyday?
After the mall is completed, must we

remember the field it inhabits now
where we chased each other as children?

If my lover fails to wake me with a kiss
a third time this week, do I worry?

After the earthquake, would it matter if
no one saw two dogs from different

families approach each other
without suspicion, then move apart?

As the workers wash their faces hidden
by helmets that beam back the sun,

should they care about the new building
behind them beyond the fear of it falling?

Does solitude offer strength over time,
or is denial of it the only practical aim?

If my mother cannot see how else
to be happy, is it enough that she may lie

in bed, convinced God watches her sleep?
After severe loss, what does the heart

learn that it has not already understood
about regret? When all light finally

forsakes a room, do we take the time
to interrogate the dark, and to what end?


(Published in Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from the Middle East, Asia, and Beyond)