Art & Poetry from January 2024

Fall’s Final Rose

The dead things are being eaten now
As winter bares her teeth
Soon she devours us
Spreading her white sheet
All that must go is going
All others preserved in sleep
The winds stop their blowing
And blight us with crystal freeze
The red bud bloomed
her last week
Colors refuse to show themselves
The looking glass grey and bleak

U can settle in enjoying insects eat
U can bloat ur stomach full
U can dream a dream in the deep
But to refuse to join the ending
Will end u in defeat

Wait for the bones to dry
Get skinny in ur sleep
And know decay did not go awry
but did its job complete

—Eva Palasha

sapphic

she is my ocean

my steady heartbeat

my love,

she is my heart. 

she is the silk of our sheets the still of breaths

hurricanes of passion

evanescence of sweet words soft lullabies 

warmth of darkness

comfort of silence

—celeste sylvester

Dawn

Dawn broke on our heads.

Endings were cut down to size.

Our little ones’ feet

rapidly turned

toward the sky.

Time set itself aside

and places shut their eyes,

like a child with words

that gray behind her lids.

Ceilings tumbled

waterfalls of stone,

and under the rubble

the last perceived image

hangs: a final painting

sculpted on our faces.

Alone we grow old tonight,

weave hours and wear them,

gobble the terror that runs

down our kids’ mouths.

Who will devour

our rusted lips?

—Rawan Hussin, Gaza
Translated by Fady Joudah

Main image: Painting Richland / "E"