The Risen Eyelid

PORTRY

ROBERT BAGG

THE RISEN EYELID

I was very tired when we arrived in Algeciras,

And I wandered tired, looking for a room to rest in for some

hours.

The one I found was on the ground floor of a courtyard,

And as I lay in the impatience of exhaustion, waiting for sleep,

Two children in the palms outside found something that pleased

them,

And hit it over and over with Spanish words like little fists.

They tired of the thing first hit upon, but found others, and at

last

Found each other, and kept shouting Joselito! Maria!

Shouting so tirelessly I carried these names

Deep into sleep with me, as one carries a mild headache,

Valuable as something always there to take up when we wake.

But when I awoke there was no headache or throbbing of names,

The courtyard was quiet with darkness, and as refreshing

Asa mind with no memory, on which the first thing it touches

Happens forever: A girl with inevitable black hair

Striking her comb through it with practiced violence,

Turning her head white-eyed as she heard my door crack open,

The strands escaping to their uncomplicated destinies.