Private Party Poem by Qassim Haddad

Advancing from the garden
I gave her the history of the water and saw
the plants take the blame for their grandchildren.
In her loneliness I planted stories and poems
about the prisoners of war waiting on my balconies
for time to ripen and pick out the mystified mint from my body.
They were dead, arbitrating the carpet of my days,
deflowering my mail, violating, hiding, and
A little while ago I found the garden of my house full of them,
listening to me, astonished
As the green that approaches like a gazelle
surrounded my limbs and prepared me for slaughter.

translated by: Bassam Frangieh