Monday, March 17, 2025

AFRIZAL MALNA ~

 




Portrait of a Felled Tree



I told him, today at seven in the morning.  A

Tuesday scented with screwpine leaves.  Tomorrow,

Wednesday. Yesterday, a jackfruit tree whose fruit

just grew in the hot season had an appointment

to meet Wednesday tomorrow morning.  But my neighbor

says, this is Friday.  I don't know whether

this is just a matter of a difference in grammar between

me and my neighbor.  Of course there are traditions

between us,  between

humans,  like using chaos as a

way to organize ourselves.  And surviving things that

don't make any sense.  For example:


There used to be a family here, says the jackfruit

tree.  You can see the traces of a gas stove,

sand that still holds the smell of your pillow,  tears

that bind your books and make your dreams

into a frame that lets loose a portrait of me

on the edge of a Sunday.


___________________________

Document Shredding Machine

Afrizal Malna

translated by Daniel Owen

World Poetry 2024