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Rasha Alduwaisan: Agarwood

March 11, 2022 by PBQ Leave a Comment

I dab oud on my wrists, my neck, 

the gap between my breasts, 
 
 
the way the Agar pours sap into its

wounds, the tender scent filling the room. 
 
 
In Cambodia, they strip down trees 

to find it, the infected bark, the salve.  
 
 
My throat is dry from shouting, this time 

about you smoking inside the house,
 
 
the stove I left on all night,

the text we cannot translate.   
 
 
I want you to kiss me, but all I can do 

is tell you I would be better off without you. 
 
 
Tell me, how long does a bruised tongue 

take to heal? How sweet does it taste? 

Filed Under: Issue 101, Poetry 101 Tagged With: Rasha Alduwaisan

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