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Within the Starting the Phrase
1
the phrase was
unverbed unruled simply birthed
earlier than hen on the altar or binding
at hilltop not taken or given in
swindling religion not proof of god whose
token or legislation was spoken
to frighten the soul oh black gap
the place as soon as my coronary heart beat
At first the phrase was
unlettered unfettered smooth
syllables uttered as wind in an intimate
stroke throughout a desert slope hope
is the unfallen grandly silhouetted at
ridgetop gentle of the start
world resting within the evening valley undimmed
by greed and lies —
At first what was solitary
within the land escaped belongingly
nobody’s a phrase imagined as spoken to self
from the deep breath or breathe
urgently urged to the new child who
received’t cry her ear is just too smooth for this
babel she hears solely candy promised stream
by means of the dry wadi —
However as if at first was we
knew the top with final solar
setting so darkness may communicate its piece don’t
think about peace no starshine or moonrise
to impede simply a world stuffed to its brim with
despair particles by means of all town
streets demolished above tunnels beneath our bodies
all over the place and the one phrase was —
depart —
2
oh black gap
the place as soon as my heartbeat was
hope
is the unfallen grandly silhouetted at
ridgetop
breath or breathe candy promised
stream by means of the dry wadi however we
don’t think about peace simply
despair particles demolished
depart oh black gap
the place
as soon as
was
at first
After
The good useless educate the residing to not hate.
—Brenda Hillman
The good useless returned.
The various useless.
The attractive boys, all
the gorgeous women.
The determined moms, the
surprised fathers, the nonetheless
wide-eyed infants, the candy
toddlers. The bodied
useless and people burnt to ash,
they too returned. The useless
we counted and the useless we couldn’t
rely, we stopped counting as
the numbers rose too excessive.
The useless whose deaths broke
our breath into ragged tears
and the useless whose deaths left us
unmoved. The useless whose names
we knew, whose names we
spoke in our sleep, in our terror
desires, and the useless whose names
we by no means knew and now can’t
care to know. The unburied
useless, rotting beneath the rubble, and
the useless buried in mass graves,
wrapped in plastic, in white sheets.
The useless borne by the weeping
crowd, carried on stretchers,
draped in defiant flags, positioned
in but yet one more disbelieving
grave. And the grandmothers
useless who had deliberate to die
of their beds, the outdated males useless,
those that had fled as soon as
or twice earlier than, then
planted bushes to be themselves
rooted, olive and almond they
faithfully tended, until that morning,
that day, that evening, that week, these
months they grew to become one of many useless,
the nice useless, the various
useless who now return,
demanding that we cease
talking of their names,
that we cease making
extra useless of their bleeding,
their aching and orphaned
names.
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