Boiling water pours into a pour-over coffee maker
Photo by Lina Kivaka / Pexels

Listen:

I’m trying to write you a love song but
the news overspills as I boil coffee.
Suppose no ruins open a poem.
Remember the hidden cyclamens,
the mountains. I ask & fear my answers:
If I sharpen my rage, will it cut through
public grief? We feed on names & nightmares.
We repeat, when our children’s children are
born, May your days be much more beautiful.
In the South, journalists are murdered &
forbidden rain falls mournful, like poets.
On this northern continent, strangers sell
smiles with large turkeys & murderous thanks.
Here, we lose language & praise barren peace.

Here, we lose language & praise. Barren, peace
smiles with large turkeys & murderous thanks.
On this northern continent, strangers sell
forbidden rainfalls. Mournful like poets,
in the South journalists are murdered &
born. May your days be much more beautiful,
we repeat. When our children’s children are
public grief, we feed on names & nightmares.
If I sharpen my rage, will it cut through
the mountains? I ask & fear. My answers?
Remember the hidden cyclamens,
suppose no ruins. Open a poem,
the news overspills. As I boil coffee,
I’m trying to write you a love song but.

Zeina Hashem Beck
Zeina Hashem Beck is a Lebanese poet. She is the author of three full-length poetry collections, O, Louder than Hearts, and To Live in Autumn, and two chapbooks, 3arabi Song and There Was and How Much There Was. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Nation, the Poem-a-Day series, and other outlets. She cohosts Maqsouda, a podcast in Arabic about Arabic poetry, with poet Farah Chamma.
https://www.zeinahashembeck.com/