This poem is taken from PN Review 283, Volume 51 Number 5, May - June 2025.
Poems
War
On the table, I unfolded
the pages of Macbeth.
Ink glistening on a notebook.
Half-full glass of tea,
steam deserting,
unrequitedly.
I stared at the jasmines,
odourless, before me.
The journalist reporting
about my city live on TV
is cut mid-sentence
by the blackout.
With my shoes on
the wrong feet, elegantly,
I pocket my keys,
depart my apartment.
...
On the table, I unfolded
the pages of Macbeth.
Ink glistening on a notebook.
Half-full glass of tea,
steam deserting,
unrequitedly.
I stared at the jasmines,
odourless, before me.
The journalist reporting
about my city live on TV
is cut mid-sentence
by the blackout.
With my shoes on
the wrong feet, elegantly,
I pocket my keys,
depart my apartment.
...
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