Tafsut Imazighen

Tizi Ouzou, Algeria Summer, 1980

Orange sliced down the middle.

Tchina and aghroum—

they really do make a meal when you’re starving.

Mama looks up at her dad, moon-eyed, 

remembers how he slaughtered the lamb, 

a quick mercy. His gift in return: 

hot oil in the eyes, swift fingers 

on guitar strings. He tells the boys not to steal, 

keep your hands in your pockets, tongue in your mouth. 

Her brother’s lips are white  

with thirst, he pulls them out from the middle 

to scare the girls. He makes them the prettiest dollhouse 

they’ve ever seen, stares out its kitchen windows. 

Cigarette butts are littered along the balcony, black soot 

trails when they fall. Sound travels down 

from the mountains: begging so thick, it settles 

over the city as a net. People pull the hungry street 

signs down so they won’t devour 

the entire language. Without direction, 

you might walk straight down the coastline into the sea. 

Isn’t it relentless, to live and just keep living?

Mama worries the boys’ll disappear, she’ll wake up 

without brothers. She seals her lips, crystalizes her hands in salt blocks. 

A sliver of orange balances on gold-grain bread. 

Together, it tastes like the sun. 

Together, it tastes like the sun.

A sliver of orange balances on gold-grain bread. 

Without brothers, she seals her lips, crystalizes her hands in salt blocks. 

Mama worries: the boys’ll disappear, she’ll wake up.

Isn’t it relentless, to live and just keep living?

You might walk straight down the coastline into the sea. 

The entire language without direction;

signs so it won’t devour.

Over the city as a net, people pull the hungry street

from the mountains, begging so thick, it settles,

trails when they fall. Sound travels down. 

Cigarette butts are littered along the balcony, blackest soot

they’ve ever seen. Stare out the kitchen windows

to scare the girls. He makes them the prettiest dollhouse

with thirst. He pulls them out from the middle.

Her brother’s lips are white.

Keep your hands in your pockets, tongue in your mouth!

On guitar strings, he tells the boys not to steal–

hot oil in the eyes, swift fingers.

A quick mercy: his gift in return.

Remember how he slaughtered the lamb?

Mama looks up at her dad, moon-eyed,

they really can make a meal when you’re starving.

Tchina and aghroum—

an orange sliced down the middle.