You don’t know Zakia? / She is in grave number forty over three, over there. / They put my name on her mud-formed stone and / when I went to see her on that rainy afternoon, my shoes became stuck in a soupy quick sand which pulled me into the city of the always awake (those who no longer yawn after a long day’s labor, or close their ears to dull the screeching sirens of the bombs) / Did you know that Zakia hid in the cavern on the edge of al-Qusoor hill during that summer when the refugees outgrew their stay? […]
*WINNER OF THE NASIONA NONFICTION POETRY PRIZE, 2019*
I hope you don’t look Asian
I don’t want anyone, boy or girl,
reducing you to some Oriental fetish.
You will never know
your grandparents on my side.
I hope you will never know the hunger
that comes with such loneliness. […]
Is it a crime that I liked you for the collapsing breadth of your lips? I keep wondering if my life would have been different had I arrived at the party ten minutes later or […]
Slicing tuna skins pickling eyes in ouzo– comb of Kalamata olives; cubes of feta resembled plastic dice without any spots. The girl from Patitiri carried buckets of water on the back of a mule through […]
First came the scrappers, Slicing the drywall muscle for Detroit gold. Dissection of the vein, red conductors. They gutted the city, Broke her teeth, Boarded up her eyes. Then came the scavengers, looking to make […]
During his years in New Orleans Longstreet pursued several commercial ventures including the sale of insurance and membership in the city’s cotton brokerage, either of which, before the war, might have brought him a comfortable […]