NYU Black Renaissance Noire Winter 2014 - Page 10

The Eruption By MATTHEW SHENODA PUBLISHED BY NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY PRESS, FALL 2014, COPYRIGHT BY MATTHEW SHENODA. Excerpt from Tahrir Suite, Section 1 In the country of waiting Time is the essence that threads Modernity to antiquity Shortly after sunrise Tekla descended A ladder made of fallen palms Down from the roof of his sleep He entered the courtyard aside a mud wall Eyes half shut to the saline air He meditated on the sleek dust that cooled his feet Gazed east at the sun coming over Lake Arun Isis could not make out the shadows Probed by her own remembrance She made solace from the warmth of her blanket Knew this day could not be like any other They would reach the city in short order Partake of the migration that was to come They would greet their crossing But first an eruption All who gather know, you have to feel it to reveal it Sudden in your own infancy You realize the ground is something new The protesters converging in a single place Made a home of something old Began the chants that transform night If order can preserve us We’ll indicate desire in every motion Walk the same route on every morning Hum the same song on every evening 8 The skies of this earth, a remnant Foretold before its own story Amorphous like squalor in the night We are made to understand the cavernous heart