TAYLOR GRAHAM : Hymn: Him of Us
ILYA KAMINSKY : Maestro
APRYL FOX : Awakening
POETRYREPAIRS v13.06:070
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Hymn: Him of Us Maestro Awakening


TAYLOR GRAHAM
Hymn: Him of Us
who is my neighbor / who accuses him / him  without salutation / him self as his only evidence  evidence or rather consequence / evidence of this  this angle this question / question what shall I do  question of lineage / lineage a close resemblance  lineage to brother / brother is a small matter  brother and I too / too poor to give / to get there  by a longer road / road to Jericho / road side or  in the field / field worked alone / field of labor /  labor under the task / labor with us / us and we  will / us with the offered hands / hands / will
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Hymn: Him of Us Maestro Awakening


ILYA KAMINSKY 
Maestro 
What is memory? what makes a body glow: an apple orchard in Moldova and the school is bombed when the schools are bombed, sadness is forbidden --I write this now and I feel my body's weight: the screaming girls, 347 voices in the story of a doctor saving them, his hands trapped under a wall, his granddaughter dying nearby – she whispers I don't want to die, I have eaten such apples, he watches her mouth as a blind man reading lips and yells: Shut up! I am near the window, I am asking for help! speaking, he cannot stop speaking, in the dark: of Brahms, Chopin he speaks to them to calm them. A doctor, yes, whatever window framed his life, outside: tomatoes grew, clouds passed and we once lived; a doctor with a tattoo of a parrot on his trapped arm, seeing his granddaughter's cheekbones no longer her cheekbones, with surgical precision stitches suffering and grace: two days pass, he shouts in his window (there is no window) when rescue approaches, he speaks of Chopin, Chopin. They cut off his hands, nurses say he is "doing OK" --in my dream: he stands, feeding bread to pigeons, surrounded by pigeons, birds on his head, his shoulder, he shouts You don't understand a thing! he is breathing himself to sleep, the city sleeps, there is no such city.
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Hymn: Him of Us Maestro Awakening


APRYL FOX
Awakening
In the dark, I feel your arms slide around me and I tense, uncomforted by the feel of your skin against mine as we look at the burning house. Your skin reminds me too much of sandpaper, but I do not want to upset the intense concentration on your face as you ask the officer closest to you what went wrong, your questions bouncing around my ears like tamborines. You want to settle this matter of who started the fire, and was it anyone's fault, and was there a stove or lamp on when the house burst into flames. I would like to tell you that nothing is anyone's fault, that these things happen for the good of God, and maybe each terrible thing we go through is supposed to make us learn a little more about patience and tolerance, but I keep my mouth closed and I let you ask your questions in your own way. I am falling asleep on my toes as I stand there being nipped by the cold, my arms wrapped around myself as I shiver in my poncho--it had rained earlier, and the smoke rising from the house was like steam rising from a heated bath--my lips turning blue in the face. I have had so many sleepless nights for the past two years that I cannot even recall when it is time to wake or time to dream, and I stare around me in awe like Rip Van Winkle waking after forty long years of sleep.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.06: 070
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TAYLOR GRAHAM : Hymn: Him of Us
ILYA KAMINSKY : Maestro
APRYL FOX : Awakening

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