My house has always been
a museum of rage. I can pick any corner
to prove it.
This week, two poems about family, anger, and Frank Ocean published in Wyvern Lit and written by Hazem Fahmy. In ‘In Which I Prefer to Blast Frank While the Door is Closed’, Fahmy paints the house as a monument to anger, every angle a dedication to force, the doors and walls humming with vibrations. The residual sound of rage filtering its way through the foundation of a house, settling like dust, only visible in the air when the sun is at the right angle to cut.
I could hate you
now, but I’d rather never. So, I raise
the volume, drown out the rest
‘In Which I Pause Frank, But Still Do Not Speak to My Father’ is a picture of the family, fractured around the single figure of a cyclone, a man spinning in his own animosity. The knots unravel downwards, complicate our own relationships with anger. How those reverberations affect us, what bodies can contain and what they cannot. “In Which I Pause…” explores whether these things run in our blood or in the air, what becomes of anger once it moves through our bodies, and whether it leaves at all.
I was angrier in Arabic than English, but
that doesn’t matter much now. In this house,
we speak in silent rage, language so loud,