Venus Khoury-Ghata

(1937 / Bsharri / Lebanon)


the mother looked like the linden tree in the square
like the wood of the table on which she wrote our faces
like the log that didn't sweat or complain about the smoke
she began to avoid us
turned her back to the mirror to the moon to the skylight
less dead
she would say that the moon was a loaf of bread baked between two stones

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