KISS
Like golden sails my dreams sail slowly
on the lustful seas of fantasy
and glide to where you’ve gone,
where your two eyes laugh and cry
where you shine, beloved lily,
girl of unblemished beauty,
and tuneful songs join your enchantment
that breathes from unkissed lips.
My saddened heart rejoices when
in night’s cool darkness, tempest passed,
you come to bloom, my little flower,
in the lonely orchard of the world.
My soul that never learned to kiss
then knows immaculate ecstasy.
excerpt
sixteen-year-old breasts, long legs, the outline of her female parts where the wet cloth of the suit pulled tight, and I felt a surprising warmth flow down from my racing heart to fill the netted sling in my swim trunks with muscular intensity. I could barely breathe. My head seemed to float above my shoulders, and as I stared like a hypnotized animal, she caught my look and smiled.
I never saw her again until that fall. It was almost supper time; the street was deserted and it had begun to get cold. She came right up to me and I felt my chest tighten till I was breathless and a little giddy. I couldn’t read the look on her face. It was amused, but not quite sure of what she was going to do, as if she were crossing a line, or testing something, and there was a challenge too, and I remembered that smile from the summer and I saw it now as something else, something that made me feel a flicker of anxiety along with the excitement and the wonder of this unexpected proximity.
She didn’t say hello, or what’s your name, or I know you, she just blurted it out, “Wanna wrestle?” and she was a little breathless too. It was something my friends and I did all the time, but I’d never even imagined wrestling with a girl, much less an older girl who was already a woman, and I didn’t know what to think about that, and before I could think anything, she stepped up and put her right arm around my neck, trying to pull me into a headlock. I slipped out, spun around, grabbed her forearm and wrist and attempted to force her arm behind her back, but she was taller and heavier than I was and she used her weight to push me off balance. She grabbed me from behind, but I squirmed around until we were face to face inside her bear hug, and I could feel her warmth, smell the light fragrance of her deodorant and a deeper, muskier scent that astonished and aroused me so quickly that I could feel my stiffness fit between her legs, and her face looked shocked and she tried to twist away and we fell, and my ankle caught on the curb and she landed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, and I heard a dull crack, and a stab of pain like an electric current that shot up my left leg, and I went pale and started to faint, and she looked scared, rolled off of me, took off at a full run down the street.
I lay there catching my breath and wondering what to do next. When I tried to get back on my feet, the pain shot up from my ankle again and I felt a moment of panic. How long would I have to lie here before I could walk? Should I yell for someone to help me?
Fleece Bed-Sheets
Soft, warm fleece fabric checkered red and green color.
The winter bed-sheets of my single life were put on the bed, my love.
For how long I hadn’t spread them?
When we slept together the warmth of your body was enough to keep next to you, with no need for them, like a cat purring of happiness.
Now the bed is too big and cold.
You aren’t next to me and the sweet sensation of the fleece fabric is the only thing that can keep me warm during the cold winter nights.
I remember the first time you spent in my house.
I was a single woman and in the bed I had these two fleece bed-sheets.
When we embrace for the first time and felt the sweat of our lust the sheets were drenched in our love.
The next morning when you kissed me before you left for work you asked me to change them into the linen sheets because the night before you were too hot.
Last night I went to bed in those fleece sheets after a long time I discovered something of our smell has remained in the fabric.
Crack
Through the slightly open door, you saw
the disguised fox getting into the full chicken pen.
Its little raised tail, and with soft movements,
dusted the stars. Then the old men with rotten
teeth lay down with their backs on the yard tiles,
still expecting something and having a dry
tree branch in their shirts. This was needed,
he’d say, and this too. It seemed that he didn’t believe it
nor he expect the others to believe him. The thin
woman took the glass, went close to him, bent
her small finger and passed the ring of his smoke
as if she was the only one who believed him.
Message
In the wedge of pain
I type the message
rushing, misspelling
hoping to get your answer
to fill my lonely hours
But you don’t answer
and for the third time, I send it,
edited and corrected
not knowing that hugging
the laughter of your comforter
you’ve fallen asleep leaving
your muted phone
on your nightstand
excerpt
“We’ll be here. You know William, he doesn’t like to go out very much.
You’re welcome to come and stay with us; what time are you getting into San
Francisco? We’ll come and pick you up, or I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, Evelyn. I’ll be just fine getting a cab.”
“Nonsense! What time is your flight, Bevan?” Her voice is firm.
“I’ll be in around five or just a bit past five. Flight 673.”
“Well now, you just stay and wait for me, even if I’m late. I’ll come pick you
up okay?”
“Okay, Evelyn,” Bevan puts the phone down.
He starts packing his bag, which he does so professionally after all the years of
repetitive action. He’s very happy that he talked to her and whistles a tune as he
puts his things together.
Hakim is back from his walk in Memorial Park and takes a quick shower. He
didn’t feel like going to the office this morning, and after calling Peter, decided it
wasn’t necessary for him to be there. He’s anxious to see Talal later in the afternoon.
He has promised to pick them up from the airport. He wants to hear all
about the trip and what Talal has to say about his uncle. There’re so many things
he needs to talk to Ibrahim about and it’s impossible to talk directly to the old
man these days, as he knows certain things cannot be discussed over the phone
or by computer. He might take a quick trip to Iraq soon, after he moves to the
new place. First he wants to know what news Talal has for him.
When he is done with his shower, he calls Jennifer to ask what time she’ll be
getting home.
“Hi there, baby. How’s your schedule later on?”
“I’ll be leaving a bit early, honey; shall be there in an hour. What time is the
flight coming in?”
“About five; we should leave no later than four.”
“Okay then, I’ll be home long before that; see you, love you.” She sounds
excited, as she’s also anxious to see her mother and hear all about her trip.
Hakim logs on to the computer and tries to get in touch with his uncle. He
sees, to his surprise, that Mara answers his message.
“Hello, my dear Hakim, how are you?”
“I’m okay, Mara. Where is Ibrahim?”
“He is in bed, sweetheart. He wasn’t feeling well today; he’s been in pain since
this morning, even before Talal and Emily left. Have they arrived yet?”
F
After the death of authority
we waited for the king’s celebrations
messengers of the lost war and
the orders of the slaughtered
on these sunken mountains
we waited for the vow of youth forgotten
along with the adventure of the roads
we carry the light and the spade
of the eighth day
entrusted in us
by the bitterness of God.
With the silence of memory
that consumes us
wrapped like an ivy over our bodies
with the music of love
spent along the bands of stench
with the full of holes prayer
of the Esfigmeni monks.
Alexander Jannaeus and Alexandra
Successful and completely satisfied,
the King Alexander Iannaios
and his wife Queen Alexandra
go by, announced by music
with plenty of grandeur and luxury,
passing through the streets of Jerusalem.
The work started by the great
Judas Maccabeus and his four
famous brothers, which was carried on
afterward amid many dangers
and many obstacles have been overcome superbly.
Now nothing improper remains.
All submission to the arrogant monarchs
of Antioch has ceased. Look,
King Alexander Jannaeus,
and his wife Queen Alexandra
are equal to the Seleucids in every way.
Good Jews, pure Jews, above all faithful Jews.
But, as the circumstances demand it,
also proficient in the Greek language,
and closely associated with the Greeks, and the Hellenized
as equals, though, let that be known.
Indeed, it has succeeded superbly,
succeeded most surprisingly,
the work that began with the great Judas Maccabeus
and his four famous brothers.
In the prologue of the first edition the editor said that it was brought to Zakynthos by
Cretan refugees a er the fall of their island to the Turks; and these same Cretans made it known
to the islanders, since it was written in their own Cretan dialect. In that edition the name of the
poet was clearly stated as Vitsentzos Kornaros from Sitia Crete. is declaration bears witness
to the authenticity of the poem, its origin and its idiomatic Cretan dialect. All other following
editions have this same declaration or a similar annotation. erefore, everyone today believes
that Erotokritos is a Cretan poem wri en by Vitsentzos Kornaros from the eastern Cretan city
of Sitia. His father was Iakovos and his brother, the Venetian-Cretan author Andrew Kornaros.
Vitsentzos, was born in 1553 and died in 1613 or 1614. Based on this we believe Erotokritos
was wri en between 1590 and 1610, although there are other suggestions depending on the
reviewer and his sources.
The first person who seriously referred to Erotokritos was the English author Leake who
makes sure to inform us, with no substantial proof of any kind that the book was written two
hundred years before 1810; and further on in his comments he states it was written around
1600.
excerpt
He was making his way to the bar when a stranger blocked his
advance.
– What you want? the man said. One eye had been inexpertly
sewn shut. Dis a private establishment, pilgrim.
Redman’s muscles twitched. He enjoyed a good row, it was a
Yukon sport, but on his first night out? Besides, the fellow had
shoulders broad as a linebacker. His fists were the size of five-pin
bowling balls.
– You best turn around, mon.
Redman feigned resignation, retreated a few steps — but then
pushed into the crowd. Convinced he’d lost Cyclops, he slipped into
a vacant seat and ordered a beer.
A few drinks later a girl approached his table and began dancing.
Her plump black thighs glistened with perspiration. She had breasts
and lips women like Marge would pay to replicate. Her hair was a
tangle of dreadlocks.
Ace jumped to his feet and began to move.
Boom-boom-ba-boom . . .
Oh, yeah.
The girl led him deeper into the crush of dancers. And then he
was being nudged into the washroom, its only exit blocked. The girl
was waved away.
– What I tell you, mon, huh? Dis place not for your kind.
There were machetes and at least one pistol tucked into a waistband.
All attached to four very large and fierce Caribes. The Cyclops
appeared to be their leader.
– You a crazy motha, know that, pilgrim?
The heat and the booze had caught up to Redman. He was out of
gas and the odds were against him. So he approached the man with
one eye squeezed shut and played his only hand.
His name, he said, was Johnny Cool, and you bet he needed a job. It
seemed most able-bodied men on the island did. He was in the lobby
sucking on sugar cane when Redman stepped from the elevator the
next morning.
– The dancer, she yours? he asked.
– Dey all mine.
– Have her checked out. I’ll want to see the certificate.
Manolis Aligizakis 