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After Mahmoud Darwish
And they searched her voice, heard the lurch of a bus into the deep muck of a field. And they searched the bus, saw the guts of its vinyl seats. And they searched the guts, smelled the steel springs rusting. And they searched the rust, tasted nothing but the tips of their thumbs. And touching their thumbs to their lips they said well in another three years.
Copyright © 2011 by Idra Novey. Used with permission of the author.
Under the marked-down dresses, we conjured trips to Oslo.
Also to Lima. Mel says the game was my idea, hiding
behind hundreds of hems, inventing trips to cities we knew
When we slid out of the lane.
When my sleeve caught fire.
While we fought in the snow.
While the oncologist spoke.
Before the oil spilled.
Before your retina bled.
Beyond the kids at the curb.
Beyond the turn to the forest.
Levinas asked if we have the right
To be the way I ask my sons
If they’d like to be trees
The way the word tree
Makes them a little animal
Dancing up and down
Like bears in movies
Bears I have to say
Pretend we are children
At a river one of them says
So we sip it pivot in the hallway
Call it a canoe
It is noon in the living room
We are rowing through a blue
That is a feeling mostly