Khalil Zaqtan
And I will bend down to smell his desire
his tomb's flowers and marble
his wilting joy
his swapping temptation for content
And I will keep him from the cold, visitors, oleander,
and the sons of bitches and say: No one
will resemble me like my father
his white stumbling and the illusion that plucks words
A shout that walks on two feeble legs
eyes me with the summer of discontent
and sprinkles me with water, turns me green
before it shakes the bitter dirt
off its fingers
… that's my father
he cried from a darkness in the grave
And I will gather the house of your chucked absence
as if we were alone on Earth
… you die
so I can fold the falcon's wings after its departure
and believe the silence that remains
Copyright Credit: Ghassan Zaqtan, "Khalil Zaqtan" from The Silence That Remains: Selected Poems 1982-2003. Copyright © 2017 by Ghassan Zaqtan. Translated by Fady Joudah. Translation copyright © 2017 by Fady Joudah. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.