Arabic Danielle Badra

I am not listening. Writing a poem to Marcel Khalife about you singing khalas.

That is not t he oud. What this is is extraordinary.

I am only every other syllable. Putting down thoughts st rummed on paper. A scene set near South Lebanon.

Thoughts a l-shajaar zeitoun and al-jabaal about you. Accents full of phlegmy sighs, yes, glottal stops.

But ukhtee, only I will memorize thoughts— t he language of my dead.

They are not r ising phonetic so permanent f rom quieted earth as a poem yet. A s skeletons of accentual, they are rattling. Resurrected only by ancient rhythm and words— a desire to summon mindoun.

Laura Carter

Because I am a good horse, I have an imaginary body. I eat apples all day long. Once, someone brought me a weak horse for a friend. I said, “No! I am larger than that horse!”

My weak horse friend was sad and lonely at Christmas time. Every day is a joyful Christmas for me, though, so I stayed far away from the weak horse and sat by myself in a flower bower. I said, “No! I am strong! Can I tell you about my babies and children?”

My weak horse friend went far away from me. I ate fruits by myself and pretended I was in heaven, because I was a good horse.

Because I am a good horse, I believe I am totally creative. My creativity is more important than the fact that no one listens to me because I am a fool. It doesn’t really matter what other people think, because I am a sock. I sock people with my ideas. I love spring. I love guns. I tell people over and over again about all the babies I have had. When they get tired of listening to me talk about my babies, I talk about my religion. My religion is the only one that matters. I don’t believe in science or anything. All you need is faith, in my eyes. That’s what makes me a good horse.

Because I am a good horse, I express myself easily. Here’s a piece of me. Anyone can eat me. I don’t have any pains about telling the world everything about me. It seems easy, and I don’t think there is any reason to fear anyone in the whole wide wild world. Once someone threatened me, but I continue to tell this horse everything about me. It’s so natural that it hurts. I am a spiritual horse. I believe in sharing my spiritual gifts with everyone who might ever know me. I have no fear, because I am sure that everyone who has never met me will also love me. I am not afraid of anything. I have no reason to fear, because God will protect me. God is the leader of my country, and I am in charge of it. Everyone follows me all the time. It means I am important. I am a good horse, after all, and I am also a special snowflake. The snow falls on my face every day and night. In my country, there are no prisons except the ones we make for ourselves. We are bound to be loved by the world. See, I said bound. And we.

Michael Levan