Eeva Karhunen


Speaking of it does not interest me.

At best 'home' is a roadsign. I do not call home.

Coming home is coming to a body. My body.

My hips are mine.

I confess to be: a feminist. I am scared to write this sentence.

What I am scared of is that of which is shouted from outside.

My backbone controls my hunger.

I do not see the ending.

I do not write for children.

When writing, I notice what I am told to write.

I do not confuse you when on board. I take a flight a couple of times a year.

Then working ethics meet research methods.

These hands work for the freedom of speech. My lecturer says hands do not.

I write with my fingertips. There is a possibility for a pen.

I was famous. Now I am here.

I am criticized. I can take pressure.

I am in the West because I do not want to give away my location.

No. I do not need medication.

I do not have to lie.

There are words: "politische lesbian."

There are consequence of words. Those of freedom.

I learned to read and write later than learning English at the age of 4.

English is a language. Some say it is my second.

I have seen a truck load of sheep being taken to slaughter.

That is a business morning. City looking empty.

This is a diary.

This is what I am told to write.

I want nothing. Wanting nothing is making peace with death.

Resting in peace is an association.

Do I have to die for you? I have not. I am not dead.

I have experienced danger.

The promise was option. Now there is none. Should I --- thank --- you?

Is it an option if someone chooses for you?

I do not cry in your eyes.

I wonder if I hang with tears.

My favourite past time as a child was to look out the windows of a Mercedes-Benz.

I do not regret.

Eeva Karhunen (born 1986, Kuopio) is an artist and a poet. Her debut collection Unelma (ntamo) was published in 2009. Her poetry has appeared in and on Unikankare, Kirjo, Kerberos, Nokturno, Kulttuurivihkot and LEHTOlapset (ntamo) 2011.
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