The Strange Guest
The Persian bride slept at my house
on her wedding night, alone,
though we were strangers the day before.
This marriage of hers was off dancing
in the world while she slept on my sofa
to the sounds of the dishwasher rinsing dreams.
She placed her hand on my heart, between
my breasts and said, "There is a sad eye here
though the architecture of the mind is wondrous."
She asked me to laugh, after all,
it is her wedding night, the most
beautiful wedding she has ever seen.
My trust and distrust dance
like an aunt from the bride's side
and an uncle from the groom's,
and I do laugh because she's a bride.
My family sits nearby and my old groom says
how beautiful I look in her hands.
Never stop opening
your house to strangers
and feeding them the last fruits
of the garden, nasturtium flowers and tea
made with honey from your oldest neighbor's bees.
Don't stop moving your hand to your heart.
Say "Yes!" when the bride wants to impose.
You never know what the stranger has to give
or better still
what rice you have to throw.
Copyright Joan Logghe
