A resurrection in North-West Iran

Mamanbozorg splits threads in the Caspian sun. We hear again
her rusted tongue speak, weave, paint carpets Persian. Here again,

 
the lambs she lambed raise their heads at the sound of her song.
Her roosari dances. She calls to a God who answers, and cheers again:

 
Golgaz. Sweet flowers shed thorns and burst through dry soil to
carpet her feet. Sunlight holds her. She won’t disappear again.

 
Under a pall of flour, she kneads. Births noon and cherry wine. 
Saffron, rose and thyme crescendo in her mouth. She feels again,

 
moves to the city where her children grew with the mountains.
Dusk breaks. She toddles the ninis to the park. Happy tears again.

 
She crosses the world and wonders if it’s faith keeping the plane
adrift. A runway of stars leads her to us. The skies clear again.

 
Baba gets a chance to say goodbye but won’t. Not again. She makes 
space for me beside her and says “Nasim, bia inja” - Come here, again.

Mamanbozorg 	Grandmother
Roosari 		        scarf
Noon			     Tehrani pronounciation of naan 
Ninis			      English pluralisation of nini, little ones
Baba			      Father
Bia inja		        Come here, imperative