Fayum Portrait

by JAMES HOCH

             [Field Manual]

Sunday, there she goes again, toddling
             out the door, off the back deck, tumbling

in her church dress, a field of hand-
             painted green stems and yellow flowers,

so that stunned, staggering forward—
            Brother, no IED, no gag a god pulls,

today, no one dies. It’s just sky,
            dress, sky. There’s no manual for this—
 

[Purchase Issue 14 here.]
 

James Hoch‘s poems have appeared in The New Republic, The Washington Post, Slate, Chronicle Review, American Poetry Review, New England Review, the Kenyon Review, Tin House, and Ploughshares. His books are A Parade of Hands and Miscreants. Currently, he is a professor of creative writing at Ramapo College of New Jersey and guest faculty at Sarah Lawrence.

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Fayum Portrait

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The Ground That Walks

ALAA ALQAISI
We stepped out with our eyes uncovered. / Gaza kept looking through them— / green tanks asleep on roofs, a stubborn gull, / water heavy with scales at dawn. // Nothing in us chose the hinges to slacken. / The latch turned without our hands. / Papers practiced the border’s breath.