rows of green vine stitched into the ground
an unsteady wind hollows out bones
leaving them ringing a cold fear
the grey undercoat of a Peugeot sedan sparkles in blunt sunlight
as it rides a rail of intention, reaction
through a countryside freeze-dried by revolutionthe countryside
light, blocky, its capillaries stretch to wick up
moisture from the backs of beasts who pass through it
its verdancy sticking to hulking bodies like a fresh pollen
like marrow extracted through centrifugal force
and spread over the smooth elbow of a baguette
forward, another dawn in Tunisia
After Spring, Comes Summer
How does an unemployed youth — disenfranchised under a corrupt dictatorship — find voice and purpose in the months after a popular revolt? What does a community learn about itself – and those around it – as it engages in direct and honest conversation for the first time? How does a government negotiate letting its citizens speak their mind, and create a stable and functioning society?
In the wake of the Arab world’s first successful overthrow of a dictator, and through the personal narratives of strangers I have yet to meet, I’ve arrived in Tunisia to find out. Over the next three months I hope to share a few stories from the wake of the Arab Spring — that hot, foggy space between revolutions and institutions.
Also filed on Twitter under #arabsummer.
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