Resurrection

By NATHALIE HANDAL

 

Why do you keep moving?
Because I’ve been given no other choice.

Why do you keep moving?
Because I don’t have the right passport.

With what do you cross borders?
A notebook, a hat, a picture of Jerusalem
and a poem in Aramaic.

What do you say when they ask you where you are from?
Nothing—the pain on my face is enough.

Who do you think of when you cross?
My father, my mother, my city
on the other side of memory.

Who sleeps beside you?
The same shadow that has for years
and has now multiplied.

How long will you keep waiting?
That’s what love does when it can’t declare
its independence from love.

 

Nathalie Handal’s recent books include the flash collection The Republics, lauded as “one of the most inventive books by one of today’s most diverse writers” and winner of the Virginia Faulkner Award for Excellence in Writing and The George Ellenbogen Poetry Award; and the critically acclaimed Poet in Andalucía. Handal is a Lannan Foundation Fellow, a Centro Andaluz de las Letras Fellow, a Fondazione di Venezia Fellow, and a winner of the Alejo Zuloaga Order in Literature, among other honors. She is a professor at Columbia University and writes the literary travel column “The City and the Writer” for Words Without Borders.

 

[Purchase Issue 16 here.]

Resurrection

Related Posts

two white daisies next to each other

Translation: Poems from The Dickinson Archive

MARÍA NEGRONI
No—posthumous—inquiry will manage—never—to see what I wrote. What I lost each time—to / discover what a home is: stiff body inside the openness it has created. No one will know how / much I insisted, how much I demanded—and with no defenses.

image of white small bird on a stalk of grass. wing feathers are gray

New Poems from YOU ARE HERE, edited by Ada Limón

ADAM CLAY
On / the Golden Record that’s out of the solar system / now, scientists deemed the sound of birds / important enough to include as a marker / of our planet. Listening this morning to a clip / of what someone or something might hear one day, / I can’t help but wonder.

The parthenon in Nashville

March 2024 Poetry Feature: New Poems by Our Contributors

MATT DONOVAN
On my flight to Nashville, after / telling me the Parthenon in his town was far better / than the one in Greece, the guy seated beside me / in the exit row swore that Athena was an absolute / can’t-miss must-see. Her eyes will see into your soul, / he said, no goddamn joke.