emet ezell

to find myself not-woman is an incantation of garlic. in every cactus i carve my mother's name. boundaries and blossoms, the caw of a crow. a dog eats my bike shorts. i curse 9 lives. in masafer yatta, stolen tents and battered pipelines. utopia and dystopia are mangled kite string.

i want to be satisfiable, i tell my lover.

to receive care from the plum tree, to attend to the pussy willow. to wash my cancer-weary frame in a rusted bathtub caked with mold. to dawn the fire of contentment.

place a kumquat in the hands of Jerusalem: something round, something small to tear at for pith.
from the book BETWEEN EVERY BIRD, OUR BONES / Newfound
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This poem is a conversation between land and self: dysphoria of the body amplifies dysphoria of place. The two most important words in this poem are “Masafer Yatta.” This year, the Israeli Supreme Court legitimized the militarized expulsion of Palestinians from Masafer Yatta. Beyond administrative violence, Palestinians face armed Israeli settlers who burn their olive trees and cut their water lines. Writing from my Trans Jewish body, I articulate a new language of diaspora, conjuring satisfaction without falling for a false sense of home.

emet ezell on [to find myself not-woman is an incantation]
Exterior color headshot of a smiling Ada Limon
Ada Limón on Writing and Her New Role

"I truly believe poetry can be a tool to reconnect us with our humanity, with what it is to be a person processing grief and rage and joy and love and despair and hope. I see it as uniquely capable of exploring all those emotions at once. Also, in the midst of our climate crisis, reading and writing poetry can repair our relationship with our planet, by helping us feel less distant from it."

via OPRAH DAILY
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Cover of Marie-Claire Bancquart's book, Toute Minute Est Premiere suivi de Tout Derniers Poemes
What Sparks Poetry:
Jody Gladding on Marie-Claire Bancquart 's [—What did you say?  Lost empires,]

"Bancquart’s poems are spare, grounded, and, for all their attention to demise, surprisingly light. Just the thing for a pandemic. This poem with its 'lost empires' and 'catastrophes' counterbalanced by a shrinking soap bar seemed particularly suited to the moment. I was struck by Bancquart’s vertiginous shifts in scope/scale, producing the same effect they do in cartoons—making us laugh."
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