Saturday, April 1, 2017

Crescent

My poem was published in 'For The Sonorous', an online magazine founded by Masfi Khan! 


fell off a swing, woodchips sewed themselves
into my pink flesh. my eyes squeezed shut because
they feared blood, mother’s mystical fingers
alleviated the sting, stitched the wound with
the faded face of Barbie and told me to never fear
climbing the clouds to reach the stars.

moonlight kissed my face, mother told me that
regardless of where you live, the moon’s glow
will always be the same. moved. saw the culture
I knew recede into the horizon as the plane sliced
the amber skies. landed in a realm where breathing
was difficult, smoke from vehicles concealed the

moon’s innocent shine. so I relied on the soft face of
mother to give me the light I had lost, her smile the
crescent this country had stolen from the heavens. until
a little girl, my sister, almost died and I realized how much
blood a body can contain. saw mother’s crescent turn
upside-down, eyes that reflected sunlight donning

waterfalls, constellations shatter into fragments too
far to see from the earth. the little girl is alive, happy,
beautiful. I chart maps that describe destruction, realize
that every disturbance comes with casualties, meteors
that burn. except not all losses are visible, some just a
loss of heat, a fire that blazed too long and needs to rest.

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