theparisreview:
It was our favorite pastime, to be sure,
those hairs waiting to be split, those pieces
that passed understanding. We thought we’d find
some sense in their words, our hammers harping
against those faces we had so admired,
their hearts simply bursting with expression
as pursuing or pursued they choked on
those sensations—all that vivid color
in our cheeks, their hair just slightly aflame.
And those cities, the ruins, that husbandry
chopped to bits—so very clever, so fine.
And those parchments they made, all those endless
petitions so unnatural to our hearts?
Each thought yielded another thought, until
we simply ran out of definitions!
Their only explanation was they loved
words that had striking force, a sign sounding
in their minds, while ripping out their throats. So,
when they finally finished crying, puzzled,
we made everything mean only itself.
Banging their tombs shut, we made their world real.
—Shawn Sturgeon, “Babylonian Surprise”
Photography Credit Cristin Sloan
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