Sisyphus Attends Our Exequies

December 4, 2022 / Kameel Karim

Who do we grieve when the flesh has gone?

The old geometricians unpeeled the brain quivering pink

and parted the sulcus as ripe fruit.

Their assurances echoing off the tunnel walls:

yes, distant, but

yes, ours. Don’t worry,

we will ship your bones to the finish line.

Do you recall your mother’s face?

Or do you mourn her in binary,

circuitry of bereavement,

silicone tombstone and specter of warmth—

And the mountain—

the great stone approaching the clouded peak and shuddering

backwards, each day in retreat,

so our vigilant neighbor may again shoulder his fate

while again, we rebuke ours.

Your ambition breathes outside your body.

We have long been outstripped by the gods of our creation.

And the mountain—

and the flesh singed—

and the laughter, for Sisyphus knows the hunger.

We, too, will be chased from the table.

By: Kameel Karim

Layout: Elena Ahsan & Kai-Lin Wei

View the full spread as it appeared in Issue No. 19 here.

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