from “with al-hudoud”
(a film by Mohammad Al-Maghout and Dureid Lahham)
To where go our griefs
illegible, lodged cellular
in our chests—no topographer
of windows
may map them entire.
Sky interrupted
by wires, the tops of fast
passing cars.
I am not warm like August’s gust.
What words have I for justice to offer?
Here too is gender in a bottle, gender in a jar
pickled and graying.
*
I know the smallest cloud
could hide in its heart
a cool breeze, an elixir
an iris full of jido’s
two lemon trees.
***
Author photograph courtesy of Siwar Masannat
