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Issue 6 | Summer 2021 |

For Edward Said

 

The day you died I shed skin
and traveled to my childhood

I hid in the lemon tree
scraped bark onto muscle and bone

covered my eyes with the sticky sap
of your obituary

and let the ants feast
on honeydew words

Your email ended in Warmest wishes
a blanket signature because we wrote

in the language of winter
No warmth in w, r, m.              Those letters

have always been icebergs
to me

even the burnt orange s
could not bring the sun

For years I found you
pulsing in the bark

of trees. Maple,                            Birch,
Pine

I would weep for your loss
spreading my tears

between the grooves
hoping to water

your ashes. I could never
know for sure until I discovered

you growing in plastic tear gas
grenades used as flowerpots

I saw you in the crisp green leaves
flowering the West Bank. That night

I went to bed with my skin
smelling faintly of citrus