there should be fruit in hell, if only for the sake of rot.
what if the point isn’t darkness and deprivation
but a lingering unease. slim sunday afternoon,
the light a touch too thin, slightly dizzy…
on an orange-tinted website someone asks in english
how to translate the phrase from french to arabic.
when i was abroad hunger was something i owned
rather than felt. it never fit in my suitcase or stomach.
and all summer i chewed my mistranslations:
i am a peach of hell.
i am a piece of hell.
i am at peace with hell.
p. hodges adams is a poet and playwright from a small town in michigan. currently, they are an MFA candidate at the university of virginia. they were a finalist for the 2020 graybeal-gowen prize for virginia writers and have twice been nominated for a pushcart prize. they are also hoping to eventually transform into a beam of pure sunlight.
