Fadwa Tuqan, Tr. By Mohammed Sawaie, From Tent Generations: Palestinian Poems; At Allenby Bridge

Fadwa Tuqan, tr. by Mohammed Sawaie, from Tent Generations: Palestinian Poems; “At Allenby Bridge”

[Text ID: “Yes, my humanness bleeds, my heart / drips rancor, my blood is poison and fire.”]

A PORTRAIT OF DEAD GIRLS

✧┈‧ʾ✧･ﾟ*.

❛⠀⠀✧⠀⠀◞ ⠀⠀ 𝗝𝗮𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 ⠀┈⠀⠀⠀.

⠀⠀⠀⠀LET ME FEED YOU ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TO MY FRIENDS!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‧ʾ✧･ﾟ*.┈✧

Maeva Quellet (26) Odette Nesbit (21) Jaqueline Quellet (25) Clementine Lavoie (25) Adeline Bouchard (25)

Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from Rien ne va plus

[Text ID: “—Every time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen I’m overcome by horror.”]

　　　　ˏˋ ✧　𝙼𝙰𝙴𝚅𝙰　❜　𝙹𝙰𝙲𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 .

　　　　　　 　 　 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

In all matters, Maeva Quellet was cold. She'd rapidly adopted the severity of their surroundings, the demands of the legacy they were born into, and their own personal usurpation of that legacy. Whilst the others of their coven mingled, forming tight bonds and often butting heads, Maeva sat on the outskirts. Eyeing for discrepancies, preparing for threats, maintaining the dynamics so the whole machine did not collapse. If she'd ever had an eye for the fantastical side of life, it had long been replaced by the dispassionate analysis required of her position.

Jacqueline seemed to be her only Achilles heel, and even towards her, Maeva knew how to be dismissive, how to keep her eyes aimed meticulously forward. It made her all the more appreciative of the times she didn't find it necessary to do so. When she could just take a moment of repose and be a big sister, instead of a vicious defender.

"Speak for yourself," retorted Maeva. The misery of the blistering heat focused her. In the barren cold, she found herself more deeply connected to the earth. More comfortable. These days, she couldn't afford comfort.

As Jacqueline began her segue into gift-giving, Maeva's tongue clicked disapprovingly, a low murmur of, "Jacq-" barely squeaking past her lips before her sister cut her off once more, persistent as ever. With a defeated sigh, she tore into the envelope offered forth, Jacqueline's explanation commencing before she could arch a brow upward in scrutiny.

First, her eyes found her sister's. Then, a slow smile formed on her stoic mouth. More spectacular than anything, though, was the glint of affection that glittered through her dark gaze - reminiscent of her present. "Since when did you get so mushy?" Taunted Maeva, before she stated point-blank and in that brashly cathartic way of hers: "I love you." Fingertips coming to grasp the ends of her sibling's hair, brushing them over her shoulder affectionately. "And I am 𝘴𝘰 getting you back for this."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‧ʾ✧･ﾟ*. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 ⠀&. ⋮  𝗺𝗮𝗲𝘃𝗮 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝑀 𝑒 𝑟 𝑟 𝑦 ⠀𝐶 ℎ 𝑟 𝑖 𝑠 𝑡 𝑚 𝑎 𝑠

Holidays felt more like wastelands of time for the Coven. And a Christmas in Georgia made it no better. It was overwhelmingly hot and humid to Jackie that she felt that wearing a t-shirt was one-too-many. It also made it ridiculous for her to wear any of her billions of sweaters—her stable object. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸. A small chuckle lived in the vibrations off her half-cracked, peachy lips.

Jackie turned slightly to focus her brown hues onto her sister. She was for the first time in years, taking in all of her. She observed how the way the sun highlighted her loosely-curled chestnut brown. The way that her pale skin failed to absorb the razes of the sun, causing her cheeks to become flushed with hazes of pinks.

The bench they sat on was on the edges of the Mystic Falls’ Graveyard, facing away from the Salvatore Boarding House and its nauseating decor. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦'𝘥 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. Her small hands slipped into the depths of her heat-absorbent jean jacket and placed a vanilla envelope on her sister’s lap before turning her head slightly to gaze across the graveyard.

All that was written was:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐑𝐀 𝟎𝟑𝐡 𝟏𝟏𝐦 𝟏𝟖.𝟗𝐬 | ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐃𝐞𝐜 +𝟎𝟏° 𝟏𝟖´ 𝟓𝟐.𝟗𝟗" ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗘 𝗩 𝗔 - 𝗡 𝗜 𝗡𝗚   𝗦 𝗧 𝗘 𝗟 𝗟 𝗔

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

With a swift clearing of her throat, she began to speak before she could meet the questioning gaze of her sister. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴.  𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.  

It was strange. She hadn’t been like this since the absorption of her father—she hadn’t been warm. So for the first time in a long time, she felt normal as if the malicious parts that she absorbed from her father were finally settling in with her pre-existing personality, making what she wanted to say to her sister, clearer.

𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "I traveled the world"