By Sarah Chefka
CENTO COMPILED OF LINES FROM DIGEST, BY GREGORY PARDLO AND THE POETRY OF ARAB WOMEN, A POETRY ANTHOLOGY PUBLISHED IN 2001
I don’t know what is in me I can’t contain.
Come, the poem falls from the faucet.
We: a Chinese New Year, red, gold, red, gold, red, gold.
From the primeval waters we arose—you and I, from the
Our kisses are
the writhing pain, sliding from the throat.
Abhorrent force, a hyperborean rebuke to
the tropic heat of being, envy
of the Other’s capacity for release.
A monumental iconography of joy, certain only
that we’d know it if it ever could be found.
We all should have been other people.