Safwan Khatib

The Suppliant in White

I

You sit cross-legged at the edge of the night
A bowl of water at your feet

In the water you find your image
& are inconsolable

Once from this same bowl
You drank

Once from this same bowl
You ate

When you carry the bowl to your brother your brother
Is the wind

When you carry the bowl to your sister your sister
Is the gun

When you carry the bowl to your father your father
Is the shot

When you carry the bowl to your mother your mother
Is the cry

You don’t even have to beg
To become what you most fear

The first task of your life
Is to never return your gaze to that water

The second task of your life
Is to carry it everywhere, a gift

 

II

You open your mouth to speak

& you cannot speak
You touch a finger to your mouth

& it is a crack in the marble

You touch a finger to your neck
& it is the slow lift of starlings in fall

Sometimes you think this unknowing
Is beginning

& you are the wood

Sometimes you think this unknowing
Is the end

& you are the fire

The fire begins, the wood burns
You throw the bowl’s water over the burning

& watch
Like a thinned elk dressed in blue flowers

 

III

Now you must look out

Over the broken
& know that what is broken

Is not the world

The suffering you know
Is not the suffering of the stranger

It is your own

The violence you know
Is not the act of the stranger

It is your sustenance

Now you must look out
Over the one civilization of your soul

You wanted to redeem

You wanted to turn away from yourself
You wanted to be good

& now you are everywhere

divider

 

The Night Between the Letter and the Voice

In the simpler dark: no angel, no book ––
What you remember

Is the face of the neighbor who hung

Her daughter's clothes on the line
& turned to see the color

Dusk took in the winter fog

All you wanted her to whisper
Was what you have been all this time

In the silence before the burning mosque

In the silence after the burning mosque
The men sing in the street

Dragging their heads like a cart of sweets

I have been to the cave
I have faced the still shapes of my language

I have let them enter & enter & enter

divider

 


Safwan Khatib is from Indianapolis, Indiana. His work has previously appeared in the Adroit Journal and Word Riot. He has been the recipient of fellowships from the Bucknell Seminar for Undergraduate Poets and the U.S. Student Fulbright Program.