A Wrapping Ceremony - Daniel Karasik

Barefoot on concrete we begin.
Bend forward. Take care to lean
far in. Grip the fabric in each
hand. The design, a sweeping
green and gold whorl that will stand
no reproduction. Your hands are moving.
Almost fully swathed. Do you know
how many seconds it takes for a baby
to hit the ground? It depends, of course,
on the height of the carrier and the eloquence
of her body, which has stood some reproduction
and has barely even started. Tie a bow.
Standing straight and swathed soundly we finish.
The call to prayer rises from the mosque,
wind that has seen the flaw in absolution.
Your son will not cry.
He will peer out from his sanctuary
on your back, he will laugh
if a goat passes, he will not see your frown
as you walk towards the market. To him
you are smiling always, upright and fragrant
with the effort of bearing him beautifully.

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