Baghbaderan Wine

  
by: Majid Naficy

        To My Father


In Baghbaderan
Cherries had become ripe
But the air smelled unripe.

We were sitting by Zayandeh River
In the circle of your friends
With the murmur of water in our ears
And the play of dragonflies in our eyes
When you went to the prayer’s room
And the orchardman
Brought us a jug of wine.

It was the first time
That I drank wine:
Red and luscious.
With the first glass
I sat on a dragonfly’s wings
And flew to the foot of the waterfall.
With the second glass
I climbed the lasso of water
And reached the sky.
With the third glass
I sat on a wandering cloud
And travelled to the four corners of the world.

Then I saw you
Returning from God
With a question in your eyes
And a book in your hand
On “Harms of Alcohol”
And I hung my head.

I wish you had drunk
That wine too.
We would clink glasses,
Read Khayyam’s “Book of Noruz”
And praise the griffin
Who gave mankind
The seed of grapes.

Then we would roll up our pants,
Hold each other’s hands
And walk to cherry trees
Through the shallow water.
You would pick an earing of red cherries
And I would fearlessly reveal to you
That I drank beer for the first time
At age fourteen in Polonia Cafe.

And today I ask myself:
When will I have my first glass
With my son? 

        March 5, 2000  

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