First it was the Realtor knockingquick against our door asking whenwe planned on leaving. Why would we be leaving? we asked, and then she pointed to the stain. Next it was the neighbor drilling through the tasteless sheetrock saying he was eager to expand now that we were finally vacating. Why would webe vacating? we asked, and then he pointedto the Realtor, who pointed tothe stain. Then it was the census taker standing by our open window calmly stating that given recent errors in statistical significance she required names and ages of those living in the dwelling since we were no longer tenants. Why aren’t we thetenants? we asked, and she pointedto the neighbor, who pointedto the Realtor, who pointed to the stain. After that it was the weather- man, the barre instructor, the pundit held in heels; it was the gallery curator, the food deliverer, the barista spelling names; it was the metro guard, the hardware hand, thechild hauling kitty litter for theSenator; it was the Senator, theSenator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, theSenator, the Senator, the Senator, theSenator, the Senator, the Senator, theSenator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, the Senator, theSenator, the Senator, the Senator, and theretired ophthalmologist making sure wesaw the stain. It was crowded in our apartment, in the hallway, in the stairs. Taking out the paperwork, the Realtor said that even with the stain nothing saved us from the closing costs. Why are we what’s closing? we asked. Everyone stepped closer to see what we would do.
A Stain on All Our Houses
Feature Date
- April 13, 2024
Series
Selected By
Share This Poem
Print This Poem
“A Stain on All Our Houses” from THE STORY OF YOUR OBSTINATE SURVIVAL: by Daniel Khalastchi.
Reprinted by Poetry Daily with permission of the University of Wisconsin Press.
Copyright © 2024 by Daniel Khalastchi.
© 2024 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System.
All rights reserved.
Daniel Khalastchi is an Iraqi Jewish American, a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and a former fellow at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. He is the author of three previous books of poetry—Manoleria, Tradition, and American Parables—and lives in Iowa City, where he directs the University of Iowa’s Magid Center for Writing.
Madison, Wisconsin
University of Wisconsin Press
“When The Story of Your Obstinate Survival begins, the speaker—let’s say there’s just one speaker—of the poems has been dislocated from their body by an act perpetrated or instigated by a figure known only as the Senator, though it isn’t immediately apparent that the Senator is responsible. The rest of the book reads like the speaker’s attempt to sing their way back to oneness with their body, and though the attempt is colored by bewilderment, anger, and sorrow, it is as rich with music as any poetry being written today. The Story of Your Obstinate Survival is a triumph of song.”
— Shane McCrae
“Despite the personal and collective turmoil that stand back of Daniel Khalastchi’s The Story of Your Obstinate Survival, the writing from poem to poem, line to line, is animated by linguistic joy and an almost madcap surrealism and humor that somehow manage to confront without prettifying or flinching from the nightmare of history, even while showing us how to maintain emotional and spiritual poise at the darkest of times.”
— Alan Shapiro
Poetry Daily Depends on You
With your support, we make reading the best contemporary poetry a treasured daily experience. Consider a contribution today.
