How can they use such names and be not humble?
I have sat silent; angry at what they uttered.
Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
Pricks His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—
An amputated leg, they say, tingles,
an ear long deaf still jangles the brain:
the body asserts the integrity of its parts…
There are worse ways to waste time
than watching videos of baby hippos…
After my brother died, his wife was sure he was living
inside their cat, Rocky. He’s in there, she’d say, staring into
those blank, yellow eyes. Isma’il? Isma’il? Can you hear me?
No matter how terrible what happened was, it is still our choice whether to understand our story as one of crippling defeat or a miraculous victory against the odds – even if all we do is get back up and learn to stand again.
What can I name my grief, again, today?
A nickel frozen in the sidewalk?
A tumbling paper bag?
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
“Picture a staircase,”
the hypnotist said.
“At the top, a door
onto a landscape.”
You may remember my father
died when I was eight
my mother closed up
the house and we went to stay
with my grandmother for a few months
A majority of my day is spent bearing witness to the pain, fear, and terror that America’s actions have been causing across the Greater Middle East and North Africa.