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Two Poems

Two Poems F RAN Ç OISE R OY letter to khaled Khaled, I carry your people on my back like a s tone. Will we be condemned to this long clim b, Sisyphus of red pearls encased in their b ox, you inside me like marrow in bo ne, fire in the sun, silver in the moo n? And sand from all the world’s hourg lasses would not be enough to cover the dead in Gaza cem eteries. Khaled, if only I had beautiful enough w ords, and an angel to whip me with his q uill, words as luminous as daw , cn aress, petal, quetzal feathers, so the stone might roll off my bac k, plummeting lead that sinks to the dr egs where your dead have ended up. navigating wind in the chest I walked the path between two sol stices with a swarm of ang els a flock of insects, miniature jagu ars and the rattle of day still reverb erating. os Th e seminal forces luring me to the honeyco mb where the hummingbird and winter cicada whir red. Navigating toward high s eas Dad and Mom are two coas ts glued on the scorched edge of the map. I want to know what language I will s peak on my deathbed. Translation from French by Amanda Fuller http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Manoa University of Hawai'I Press

Two Poems

Manoa , Volume 31 (2) – Dec 18, 2019

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-943x

Abstract

F RAN Ç OISE R OY letter to khaled Khaled, I carry your people on my back like a s tone. Will we be condemned to this long clim b, Sisyphus of red pearls encased in their b ox, you inside me like marrow in bo ne, fire in the sun, silver in the moo n? And sand from all the world’s hourg lasses would not be enough to cover the dead in Gaza cem eteries. Khaled, if only I had beautiful enough w ords, and an angel to whip me with his q uill, words as luminous as daw , cn aress, petal, quetzal feathers, so the stone might roll off my bac k, plummeting lead that sinks to the dr egs where your dead have ended up. navigating wind in the chest I walked the path between two sol stices with a swarm of ang els a flock of insects, miniature jagu ars and the rattle of day still reverb erating. os Th e seminal forces luring me to the honeyco mb where the hummingbird and winter cicada whir red. Navigating toward high s eas Dad and Mom are two coas ts glued on the scorched edge of the map. I want to know what language I will s peak on my deathbed. Translation from French by Amanda Fuller

Journal

ManoaUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Dec 18, 2019

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