IMG_4727Water
I scratch its surface with my fingers
Disturb its sleeping memory
Then sculpt it into mirrors

Sky
I build it with sheets of silk
And strings of a broken violin
Then shape it into a dome

Wind
I play it in D Minor like a piano concerto
I bend it, fold it
Knead it with bread

Sun
I hide it in my treasure box
Braid its rays to make a quilt
For the seasons of ice

Moon
My mother’s face
I shatter it to make lanterns
To strangers in blackout cities

Stars
I sow them
In my womb
They grow into fields of wheat

Rain
I make rosary beads from its drops
Carry it in my bags
To quench my thirst

Light
Is where the lotus blooms
I pour it in my dark grottos
Carve it into statues

Marble
I touch it, it groans
Its gray veins shrink and bleed
Fermented smoke

Wounds
Scented peonies in a garden’s fence
Broken church icons
I heal them to create a body

Time
The distance between two heartbeats
I crucify its hours
Make an incision in its tissues

Language
Cocoons on my fingertips turning into butterflies
Ink leaks from my pores
Embroidery on white paper

Poet
A suspended star between dream and reality
A stray gazelle
In the forest of the alphabet

– Imen Benyoub

© 2015, poem, Imen Benyoub, All rights reserved; photo, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

 

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