RESURRECTION WEEK Poem by Kiki Dimoula

The devotion night will show us

oppresses me. I prefer



to remember. Not that my well

of living images is dry.

But each time I place them

in their expressive postures,

I see by morning they have moved.

I know it by the scrapes their drag

from their original positions leave

on stability's luster.



It's why I insist

on remembering: to not mar the luster.

Not because it makes me feel more durable

— it being the infinity of time already lapsed.



If I insist on remembering

it's not to accommodate God — arousing

the inert figures, I provide him

also with some motility.



I insist on remembering

not because ease offers me this choice

gratis. By arduous feeling and sacrifice

and turning despair inside out,

I eked out how to squawk-dyi squawk-ing —

I speak crow-Latin to keep the menace

ignorant of my refuge.



If I insist on remembering

it's not to find excuses

for always speaking in the same

worn words — what do you think the new ones

are? A temporal childish defiance

to the old.



If I insist on remembering

it is no battle-flinch

no backwoods retreat. All kinds

of people constantly pass by.

What I remember can be seen

from the most central districts.



For a little hope, a hint of renewal

I remember. I'm totally fed up with all

that ineluctable and future Lord

squawk why-have-you-forsaken squawk—

without exaggeration!