My Sentimental Afternoon

By LEILA CHATTI 

Around me, the stubborn trees. Here
I was sad and not sad, I looked up
at a caravan of clouds. Will you ever
speak to me again, beyond
my nightly resurrections? My desire
displaces, is displaced. The sun
unrolls black shadows
which halve me. I stand
very still so as not to startle
the song in the branches.
It’s true: I am learning to believe
there are beautiful things
never meant for me.

 

Leila Chatti is a Tunisian American poet and author of Deluge—winner of the 2021 Levis Reading Prize and the 2021 Luschei Prize, and longlisted for the 2021 PEN Open Book Award—and four chapbooks. She lives in Cincinnati and teaches in Pacific University’s MFA program.

[Purchase Issue 27 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

My Sentimental Afternoon

Related Posts

coffee with a spoon

If It Wasn’t for Heroin

AMIYA MORETTA
My Umatilla grandfather / who had one leg, lived down the road, / hobbled to her heroin loyally. / That’s how / my mom and dad, neighbors whose parents / were good friends and fellow addicts, / met as kids, played together / on Frieda Street, those mornings

At night my soul leaves 

KAREN CHASE
up it goes into the stars, for / sustenance. I open / my eyes and pray— / You have returned within me, my / soul with compassion. / Modah ani lefaneka melechai / chai vekayam shehehezarta // I get out of bed, / join the revolution. 

Image of a wooden horse

Trojan Horse

M. B. MCLATCHEY
 It was a gold-seal ruse. A double-/ dealing so sublime the gods ordained / it. Settled into their stadium seats, / they wagered on their favorites. Helen, / the imposter bride, circling and circling  / the gifted horse. / Her Central Casting / lines to the shadows inside.