Flaubert's Egypt

Flaubert's Egypt


Flaubert wore himself out
trying to imitate the cry
of the camel, rattle interrupted
by a gargle; he wanted to take it back
with him. Kuchuk's bedbugs fascinated him
too, their smell mingled with the scent
of her skin. I want, he told her, a touch
of bitterness in things. Temples,
the sand dunes, the very Nile itself--
they all made him lazy and he wrote home:
"I think of nothing at all, not even
the elevated thoughts one should have
here in the presence of ruins!"
He sent his letter, then went off
to visit Kuchuk of the long legs again,
wondering if she had felt any pleasure
since "undoubtedly" her little button
had been circumcised when she was little.

I who have been to Egypt confess
I saw another country. In Cairo
I was followed by a man and had to run.
In a bus a tall man rubbed against me
in a crowd so tight I couldn't leave,
and I twisted away from his crotch.
At night I couldn't leave my cheap hotel.
I sat there at the desk thinking how
I'd like to meet Kuchuk, I'd like to stand
listening to camels, I'd like to be safely lazy
lying on the banks of the Nile while
I squeezed bedbugs between my fingernails,
reflecting on the touch of bitterness in things.

Copyright © Mary Crow
—first published in Artful Dodge
Dept. of English/The College of Wooster
Posted over on Mary Crow's Blog