VIII
from The Lady of Syros
Summary
The sculptor of Syros wanted me slender as a stake
silent as clay
immobile in my bones
arms crossed on the threshold of the infinite
Woman or statue, what's the difference!
With a liquefied face
the slit of my womb sealed shut the sculptor of Syros wanted me
The dead don't desire each other
don't penetrate each other
useless to engender more dead
The earth, filled to the brim, barricaded its door
Let the surplus ones bury themselves with their own hands in a hole in the air
Closed in between two layers of earth
I could draw the world without moving my hand
movements borrowed from disused beings
I sketched a creek from the crashing of the backwash on the rocks
a grove of trees from the wind's noise as it pulled the branches’ hair
city streets from wooden clogs trampling the tender and the dry
Dead, I recognised trees by their odour
acrid for the jujube tree
bitter for the cypress
acid, the elder-tree that grows in cemeteries […]
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- A Handful of Blue EarthPoems by Vénus Khoury-Ghata, pp. 13Publisher: Liverpool University PressPrint publication year: 2017