Tag Archives: Babo Kamel

All evening the moth has flown into and through the light, each wing, half a heart, flying across the room. And you with your new love, and I with my lost loves have an aubade to write, before the sun … Continue reading →

Bashing against the window the cardinal seems to hunger for its own transparency, as though it could move through itself— each thud before the next amnesiac dive leaves the eyes a little more stunned, the heart shadow flattened against the … Continue reading →

so loud I imagine a large crow shredding papers, shitting on books, but the young starling I find sits cornered, its whole body pulsing, a small grey heart. I remember how my son used to howl, those airless nights that … Continue reading →

a ritual casting off of sins during the Jewish New Year I change in the dark because sometimes I think god is peeping through the keyhole the way my father did, staring at my adolescent breasts, his eye like a … Continue reading →

A letter I found long ago in a second- hand book, lies between two pages like the leaves my mother pressed in wax paper, bits of autumn to hold us through the endless winters of Montreal so cold, you could … Continue reading →