Fall 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 4 Poetry |

Come down with Me from Lebanon

And the ancient stones of our fathersand reinforced concreteboth leapt like brazen calves at the will of artillery, and knelt and fellon the living and the dead. I open my throat with an old, ill-fitting lament, and digfor a face still whole,a song great enoughto contain you all,undertone spun out of molecules of bedrock.   All the spices in the Song of Songskill no one, arm no one, and sogo unnoticed, bruised and fragrantin sun-cracked stones underfoot. Come down with me from Lebanon, from Hanir and Harmon and the lion's lair. Swallows hide in the face of the cliff, gazelles browse in the lilies.   She's borne too many to fear death much. The faces of every army that ever broke itself on these mountainsare gentled in her children's faces. She kneels before stonewith a grinding stone, death's counterweight gaggedbeneath her black dress, and clothed in grief, she draws the sun as her hands raise domesof bread on the coals.   Before eating, we bless

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Woman Troubles

By Tyrone Williams

And the ancient stones of our fathersand reinforced concreteboth leapt like brazen calves at the will of artillery, and knelt and fellon the living and the dead. I open my […]

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