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Fever and Other poems

by Eman Hassan

I remember you as a hallucination,

bitter dregs at the bottom
of a Turkish coffee cup, as a body-ache

rolling out from my sinews in a sigh 
of sweet dreams recollected, for a moment burning―

you are the boiling that rears its swooning head 
to pierce bubbles,

that relief in clammy touch of rubbing alcohol on metal.

A vision, glistening:
someone in a black cloak, arguing with, enticing me

―here are the grinds, lemon-rinds of memory:  an aftertaste

of coffee; an over-kissed, blistered mouth that exhales 
lusty breath across a mosquito-harvest,

rising in sweet delirium.
Most of all a burnt smell of magnolia, unrequited,

wafting up.


I give thanks for daffodils along my windowsills 
sing in gratitude for my awareness,

the way it spirals above my crown then
down into my neo cortex, out my eyes, I give thanks

for this candle in my cranium’s cave, for hanging
clusters of wisteria, this mind, the litany of days 

that continue: I press palms together for the excess 
of fuchsia in a single petal,

for fractals of flowers, bouquet-swirls of lemon, 
cerulean and magenta 

starbursts of petunias, branches of cherry blossoms 
resembling white arms of nebulas

in the iris of my imagination
I am grateful for purple clusters of lavender 

and mock orange, perfuming the rosy-hued 
hours that turn 

evenings into night… mostly I sing praises
for thousands of pink flamingoes who take

flight in my chest, when reading poems by Odysseus Elytis.

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