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Vénus Khoury-Ghata

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by this poet

Where do words come from?
from what rubbing of sounds are they born
on what flint do they light their wicks
what winds brought them into our mouths

Their past is the rustling of stifled silences
the trumpeting of molten elements
the grunting of stagnant waters

they grip each other with a cry
The first day after his death 
she folded up her mirrors 
put a slipcover on the spider web
then tied up the bed which was flapping its wings to take off

The second day after his death 
she filled up her pockets with wood chips 
threw salt over the shoulder of her house 
and went off with a tree under each arm