Thirst Petition

I’ll borrow a flower code cut down 
To the eloquence of irises 

For my mother, the Semitic ghost in white skin 
Among certain continental American things—

The paved streets; modern, integrated men; feelings 

Contracted; and nothing but parking lot trees to shed their bark 
Above the graves of women, guiding their shades 

Toward the flower’s namesake goddess who puts to sleep 
Those who perjure, daughter of Thaumas 

And the cloud nymph Electra, 
Is this what it is 
To be raced at the end of a long line of pricks? Iris, 

I open my mouth 

Under your ewer pouring the Styx