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A review by lifeinpoetry
O by Zeina Hashem Beck
5.0
Excerpts:
I’m tired of knocking on the doors of empires.
(from “Dear white critic”)
when i was a little girl i wanted to bury the afternoon
when longing was long & my parents slept & slept
i stood in the corridor & repeated i i i i i until i
flickered in & out of myself
(from “ode to the afternoon”)
I was terrified
when the doctor named the disease
& told you one can manage it these days—
there are pills, there is time.
I know we are not young young,
know the body is but a shell—
shoulders throb, hips need oiling
at the hinges, hair whitens—
but isn’t it too early? & death,
whichever of us it comes for first,
will it be forgetfulness or remembrance?
Of the two of us, you’re the one who believes
more. It matters what we tell ourselves,
so we tell ourselves
We are here we are here we are here.
(from “UNBREAKABLE”)
I’m tired of knocking on the doors of empires.
(from “Dear white critic”)
when i was a little girl i wanted to bury the afternoon
when longing was long & my parents slept & slept
i stood in the corridor & repeated i i i i i until i
flickered in & out of myself
(from “ode to the afternoon”)
I was terrified
when the doctor named the disease
& told you one can manage it these days—
there are pills, there is time.
I know we are not young young,
know the body is but a shell—
shoulders throb, hips need oiling
at the hinges, hair whitens—
but isn’t it too early? & death,
whichever of us it comes for first,
will it be forgetfulness or remembrance?
Of the two of us, you’re the one who believes
more. It matters what we tell ourselves,
so we tell ourselves
We are here we are here we are here.
(from “UNBREAKABLE”)