Leila Chatti

      mother of Narcissus

The water brought me

          such suffering, beauty

                      sprung from it —

a child. And I loved him

          as I eventually came to

                       love all artifacts

of violence done to me.

          His hair, gold as light

                       broken across

the river’s surface. His

          eyes twin stones


at the bottom

          of an unstirred pool.

                       The simplest things

undo us, the simplest

          of which is ourselves,

                       desire as weapon,

mouth as ingress.

          Sweet boy,


in my deepest

          waters, what of me

                       looked back

in your need?

          When thirst


the body cries drink!

          When love,

                       more, more.

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