In Which All Language Fails My Gender by Hazem Fahmy
(after Safia Elhillo)
How dare I
use a pronoun
that doesn’t exist
in Arabic?
Here,
under this skin,
melody of blood moon
and open sea—sails
so wide, I break
the wind, wield
the water, become
island of flesh
and fag: weather
the sound
of sunrise, satin
all over like
sand, but
there,
under harsh
suns, sharp
tongues call me
out of my name,
numb the night
out of me, cast
my bones
in cold light.
There
is no name
for this no man’s land
I have become,
so I try
to translate.
Hazem Fahmy is a poet and critic from Cairo. He is an Honors graduate of Wesleyan University’s College of Letters where he studied literature, philosophy, hisory, and film. His poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming in Apogee, HEArt, Mizna, and The Offing. His performances have been featured on Button Poetry and Write About Now. He is a poetry editor for Voicemail Poems and a contributing writer to Film Inquiry. In his spare time, Hazem writes about the Middle East and tries to come up with creative ways to mock Classicism. He makes videos occasionally.
(Front page image via)
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