"God, the mother claimed, is behind every tree in the forest" by Vénus Khoury-Ghata

his right shoulder lower than his left
heavy with rocky snowfalls from such endurance
It’s his motionless breath that fissures our walls in the night when one winter hand
power over to another
The deaf bluetit’s wing-beats count for nothing
nor the mother’s invectives guilty of having grouted the tiles with her tears

Yet the storm announced festive disorder
erosion polished up by subtle windsEverything smiled at us
and the mother who wore her tears around her neck like warm-sea pearls
counted them on our fingers that grew with the Persian lilac, the only one to
sympathize with our sorrows

his right shoulder lower than his left
heavy with rocky snowfalls from such endurance
It’s his motionless breath that fissures our walls in the night when one winter hand
power over to another
The deaf bluetit’s wing-beats count for nothing
nor the mother’s invectives guilty of having grouted the tiles with her tears

Yet the storm announced festive disorder
erosion polished up by subtle windsEverything smiled at us
and the mother who wore her tears around her neck like warm-sea pearls
counted them on our fingers that grew with the Persian lilac, the only one to
sympathize with our sorrows

Dieu, clamait la mère, se tient derrière tous les arbres de la forêt

Dieu, clamait la mère, se tient derrière tous les arbres de la forêt
L’epaule droite plus basse que la gauche
lourde de neiges pierreuses à force d’endurance
C’est son souffle immobile qui fissura nos murs la nuit de passation entre deux hivers
Les battements d’ailes de la mésange sourde ne jouaient aucun rôle
ni les invectives de la mère coupable d’avoir cimenté les tuiles avec ses larmes

Pourtant la tempête annonçait des désordres festifs
Des dégradations fignolées par vents subtils
Tout nous souriait
Et la mère qui portait ses larmes autour du cou telles perles des mers chaudes
Les comptait sur nos doigts qui grandissaient avec la Lilas de Perse
Le seul à compatir à nos malheurs