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Jill Khoury
fall 2006
Journeyman
I am a teacher,
writer, and jewelry maker living in western Pennsylvania. My poems are
character-driven and often have a magical-realist bent. I draw
inspiration for subject matter from current events, fairy tales, urban
legends, and overheard conversations. As a visual artist, I work in
mixed media, including acrylic, poly-clay, found objects and texts,
wire, fabric, and digital image manipulation. I've lived in
Pittsburgh half my life. For relaxation, I like to walk in the cemetery across the
street from my house. My friends say I make an
excellent chicken curry.
Journeyman
Your hands are always busy
shaping something. I
watch the rumble, dance of bones
neat, compact, below
your olive skin. A tiny
bird’s nest of hair crowns
the right ring finger. Every
day you clean your nails,
pare them to nothing. I’ve seen
your brushes poised
on the sink, near the razor.
I think of monks’ hands. The small nirvana of constant work.
You’re making a necklace.
You pinch the wire, mold
it into circles smaller
than a dime. Chain mail.
Thick enough to have preserved
mortal Achilles.
I’m nineteen, and since
I’ve dreamt of men,
I’ve dreamt
of charms, secret talismans.
Are you so patient that you’d love me forever?
Your brows weave themselves into
a knot; you’re at work
and have no time for questions.
You exhale through your nose,
file the edges so
they will lie smoothly
against my neck and answer:
I love you now.
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