THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR

The Final Hour Blog

  • Home
  • About
  • Magazines
  • Events
  • Submissions
  • Contact
  • The Final Hour Blog

22/4/2020

我旳

0 Comments

Read Now
 
It’s getting cold and I just want କାଞ୍ଜି, 
but the place I grew up in is gone. 
I was named for annihilation, काली, 
from the Samskrtam for the blackness before creation. 
There is too much time in me, 
too much blood of the Mór-Rígghain, 
too much blood of the aureoled Nāga. 
The hunger of Apophis or Fenrir — 
I’ve eaten crocodile and lunar cakes, 
and I’m coming for the sun next, 
red as the silk road — 
kɑ:, I say, like Khan, and they flinch, 
my tongue the sword of Damocles, 
throat speckled like foxglove, 
eyes burning like Гоργώv ichor — 
don’t letch at me, you contemptable fuck.
BY KALI NORRIS, AKA SEKHMET
Picture

Poet's Statement 

I grew up in New York, and I was always surrounded by languages. Spanish, Cantonese, Sanskrit, Yiddish, Mandarin. This is an angrier poem than I've posted here before, but sometimes I don't want to translate myself. Sometimes I don't want to tell people what my name means. Sometimes I am angry. Of course, plenty of people have a much harder time with this, but it's all the same problem. People pretend they can't pronounce my name. Mostly, I'm polite about it. 

Share

0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

Details

    Welcome to the Final Hour Blog

    About Us

    This blog is the companion to The Last Day of the Year Literary Magazine. Follow us here for thoughts, process, and our own work. We're so glad to have you. 

    Archives

    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020

    Categories

    All
    Art
    Astraea
    Cemetaries
    Gay
    Khepri
    Modernism
    Painters
    Painting
    Poetry
    Poets To Know
    Politics
    Sappho
    Sekhmet
    Staff
    Staff Poetry
    Thoth
    Ubasti
    Visual Art

Proudly powered by Weebly
  • Home
  • About
  • Magazines
  • Events
  • Submissions
  • Contact
  • The Final Hour Blog