iranian hostage crisis

mother saved a yellow
ribbon from college:

and every Wednesday we
walk like small clouds, we walk
in fine clothes and
porcelain watches that tell the correct time-

we walk home. and mother does
not say a word. she stares and stares
and beyond where she is looking

I dance:
I am the virgin in the temple,
waiting for the red bull
that the high priests lead in, and I will watch
them

dumbly smack, between his dumb eyes,
the red of the blood-
and the sand-

and I walk home.

(they hung
the yellow
ribbons from
all breeds of
plywood sign) mother
will not speak about it. she

goes about her
muttering, sleeps
earlier than the
bleeding winter
sun:

mother will not speak to me about college
about the yellow ribbon in her
bureau and why when I
stare out the window and come home
with my eyes filled with odd
deserts:

she goes to sleep.
and sleeps and wakes up in the spring