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Absence Without Arms, and: A Weeping Window, and: Lost in Translation, and: Heart of Despair, and: Kinetics

2023; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 35; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/ff.2023.a916573

2151-7371

Mona Kareem,

Chaos, Complexity, and Education

Absence Without Arms, and: A Weeping Window, and: Lost in Translation, and: Heart of Despair, and: Kinetics Mona Kareem (bio) Translated by Sara Elkamel (bio) Absence Without Arms 1 All these visitorsAre on their way:Where will I hideThe bags of my solitude? 2 I want to exciseThe scent of silenceThat glides outMy bedroom window 3 In your absenceI did nothing unnatural:I archived my dreams,I read Ritsos,I polished my smiles 4 Again, this yearNo one turnsMy heart's handle 5 This timeI will not open doors or windowsI will let the angels escapeThrough the keyhole [End Page 130] [End Page 131] A Weeping Window Because the street is as lonelyas a ridiculous war,we teach the void to colorwith stains of wood. The window is weeping,and the sun driftsover bird nestsexposed without hats. Because the poem is ashen,I wait in fearof that one wordthat could devour my soul. [End Page 132] [End Page 133] Lost in Translation My phone passed awayI closed the lightI made him writeHe was brittleThe elephant in the roomCool and cuddlyI'll call at the endings of the weekWe manufacture plansWe file the ducks in a rowWe hang ourselves outsideOr we cool ourselves insideWe speak in the shitWe drink some, we sing someUntil the song moves a worm in the earWe kill two bottlesThen pay for them like we're DutchI pick up your brainThe beans spillWe hold each other accountableWe exercise transparencyQueers have passed through here [End Page 134] [End Page 135] After coming out of the closetTo hang their pinkwashAt the intersectionWe dissolve the flesh between usSo that our relationship is not contaminatedPoisonous like masculinityDichotomous like good and evilOne and only, like AllahOr a risk taken in the darkA lower attackHold your horsesFor the sea is full of fishAnd the zebra does not change its stripes [End Page 136] [End Page 137] Heart of Despair Death is a worker,mopping the hospital floorand the streets for free. Blood lives in mourning,at a loss for ways to smotherthe music in my pockets. A wailing chairsits in the backyard;it looks a lot like night—a slit down its miniskirt. Grief arrives;it serves tea to the mourners,before retreating to a cornerto drown in itself. A lonesome cloud hangson my every word.Whenever I open the window,it penetrates me—but there's no way for meto traverse its membrane.Do you thinkI hate freedom? Something inhabits my pageswith a face as taut as whiteness. Work is hard funwhen the pen works overtimeto make a poem. When I carry the wind,it defaces me,but that's alright—as long as the truth eludesthe trudge of traffic. [End Page 138] [End Page 139] The earth dons a shirtas white as darknessand bows to her new love,America,ignoring the gifts of the poor … Of deathwe make rainthat attempts to kick our verylast tear. [End Page 140] [End Page 141] Kinetics When I wake up, the weekendweighs heavy on my chest.It studies me in disquiet:How will she squander me this time? I'd like to waste the daylaying half-asleep in bed,to give my muscles—which have been voluntarily decayingon the outskirts of my thirties—the chance to regenerate.I'd like to suddenlymetamorphose into a turtle like Baudelaire's,whom he'd take on walks,a collar around its neck,to face the city's momentumwith extreme slowness. I board the Queens-bound train,clinging to the polelike it were my last remaining cordto the world. I walk for hours.I cross every square:Cooper, Washington, Union, and Times,and finally, Columbus,standing there since 1894,beneath rain, sunlight, and snow,life passing him by. Years have elapsed in exile,and I'm still...