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poetry

INDIAN HILL
by
Lina Makdisi

I am rubbing the dark tan wool of your sweater on

your back, pressing the blades of your shoulder down

flat and you are kicking the dirt and saying that you will

not ever and cannot seem to find your grandfatherís

grave, that humor is important as a way to cope with

sadness, that you do not want to hurt me but that B.

is so pretty and J. makes the most beautiful sound

when she comes and L. can turn blackbirds into

bluebirds. Meanwhile I think I am supposed to

notice the shifting of the branches of leaves and how

there is no other way to describe a graveyard except

to say that it is refreshingly at peace with its stillness

but see to my right a sharp white flash and your face

like an old man who canít remember if he took his

medication.     Have you?     Taken your medication?



THE OK
by
Lina Makdisi

Determined, I

                                             drag us across

                                             great thistle hills


The

people are all gone

from here

                              I think

               I am

               starting

               to get

               you


In addition to the stylized

way you

                              lick my hand,

                                                   you

are my Motherís

Father

                                             Is that

                              OK with

                              everyone

                              here?

                                             How

                              come

                              you are

                              laughing?

                                             Does it have

to do with

the relation-

ship between

art and

love?

               Oh wait, you

are expecting some-

                              thing like

                              you are expecting

                              me to respond

                              both orally and in

                              writing


Must you say these things?


                                             Like

a piece of wet snow

I am

falling



Lina Makdisi is from Berkeley, California. Her poetry, including "The OK", has been published in Ostranenie Magazine.

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