Poeticians and a poem.


Leap off the end of the year with the Poeticians. Glide out on a wind of words and open up new vistas of aural experience. Come read, come listen, come celebrate the power of words. We promise it will evoke a feeling of warmth, holiday cheer, slight inebriation, probably a little awkwardness, but no reindeer, no jingling bells, and no sudden addition of ten pounds to your waistline.

TUESDAY 21st December in City Max Hotel, Barsha, behind Mall of the Emirates. 7:30 PM till whenever…

The lounge/bar is to the right of reception. Please note that no one under 21 yrs of age is allowed.

You know you want to.

Happy holidays to the ones we wont see next week!

Did This Happen to Your Mother?
Did Your Sister Throw Up a Lot?

by Alice Walker

I love a man who is not worth
my love.
Did this happen to your mother?
Did your grandmother wake up
for no good reason
in the middle of the night?

I thought love could be controlled.
It cannot.
Only behaviour can be controlled.
By biting your tongue purple
rather than speak.
Mauling your lips.
Obliterating his number
too thoroughly
to be able to phone.

Love has made me sick.

Did your sister throw up a lot?
Did your cousin complain
of a painful knot
in her back?
Did your aunt always
seem to have something else
troubling her mind?

I thought love would adapt itself
to my needs.
But needs grow too fast;
they come up like weeds.
Through cracks in the conversation.
Through silences in the dark.
Through everything you thought was concrete.

Such needful love has to be chopped out
or forced to wilt back,
poisoned by disapproval
from its own soil.

This is bad news, for the conservationist.

My hand shakes before this killing.
My stomach sits jumpy in my chest. My chest is the Grand Canyon
sprawled empty
over the world.

Whoever he is, he is not worth all this.

And I will never
unclench my teeth long enough
to tell him so.


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