1 month ago --

[written in the moments after finding out]

[after a vigil, sitting alone]

I am proud of myself in many ways, but at the same time I fear for myself. The killings make me fear for myself and for my family, be it blood or otherwise. 

I am waiting for Isa to come back. I wish she hadn’t gone to that place, I don’t think its worth it; her love is worth more than that. 

Taj knows everything. This is how I know she is my sister. That it is fair for me to consider her family. I let her see things about me, and I let myself be honest with myself around her. It is the only thing that Taj demands of me, is that I be honest. Her password is “I am enough 786!” and that is why I love her. Of course it is her password, of course she is good enough, and look, look how we have more than enough. 

[IT IS FUNDAMENTAL TO MY SURVIVAL AND LIBERATION THAT I BELIEVE IN MORE THAN ENOUGH.]

-- chapel hill night

for deah, yusor & razan

my spine is tired . from the cracking .

a premonition . this rubble .

a demolition . is coming .

we mistake death's door for a welcoming .

we expect the sail to unfurl at the wind's thrust .

a promise . cloaked in rifles & rhetoric .

and flowers . new wreaths over old wars .

new wails over old wounds .

la ila ha illallah

a vigil for the dead .

and a funeral for the living .

we'll see you on the other side, inshallah

for now, 

survive.

to woman is to fade

my . self .
a poem in lay.ers .
i.am.bs
in alle(gor)i(e)s . stacked against bodies .
after bodies . after . bodies .
after . bo . dies .
on tracks . tire tracks . (t)rain tracks .
trample . tr . ample . tramp . le . trample . trample . trample .
t r e m b l e … . .

sunset after dark

midday hangs heavy over the pallet
facing the open sky
the doors are never closed
always waiting for
a homecoming

a widow docks on the nearby shore
slim tentacles sagging from bloodletting
nightly offerings to the roaring seas
who take pleasure in devouring
posterity
and inheritance

the fishermen reap shells on high tides
sometimes grenades-
or uniforms
or a photograph
of sons with crooked teeth

and still the sun shutters
and the waves stutter
until the cocking of guns
clings to aural memory
drowning laughter
of first steps taken