The Bones We Once Belonged To: The Lyrical World of JudIth Ansara
"Tell me a story," I ask, curled beneath a quilt on this cool summer day, and the poet opens her mouth and speaks to me of startled birds, and lavender seas, and of the thin brown legs of the becak driver who pedals her through the streets of Java on a wheeled cart he does not own. How much money do you make, she asks, and Aatif answers. ... oh not enough, not enough he says smiling most goes to the mullah who owns the cart She tells me, this poet, that when she and her family decide to buy Aatif his own becak... how his tiny toothless mother smiled and bowed smiled and bowed She tells me how, once he understands, the whole world breaks open, ear to ear. I imagine his smile. I imagine the toothless mother, smiling and bowing. Smiling Old Woman Portrait, Java Indonesia, Adam Cohn Curled beneath a quilt, on this cool summer day in Colorado, 9000 miles from Java, thi