Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2018  Vol. 17 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Post-Election Morning

Gray against gray.

It’s easy to make the world say what you want it to.


Hell hath no fury

my brother’s piano fingers splayed against his laptop

like a white American

a T R U M spidering across a prayer room

that feels unimportant


I will [deport] myself

U.S. Census, White: A person having origins in any of the original peoples of Europe, the Middle
East, or North Africa


the conversations on the Q train
on campus
on a bench in midtown where one might stop to lower cheek to shoulder


my mom said the police were bringing tear gas so I
this is what democracy
a school where, like, every other kid has undocumented parents
it’s just, god, my daughter keeps asking
even the word pussy


My husband’s beautiful face. We’ve joked that any children of ours will take my last name.
There’s no P in Arabic. I snap the photograph before midnight. In the bedroom, we move our
bodies the way Allah intended. He can’t come [with me]. What’s wrong, I keep asking, what’s
He can’t speak.

O sweetheart

the realization a jolt in my throat

O sweetheart you believed in America


My mother lost her wedding dress after Saddam
I can’t throw mine away

I know you see me pulling that armful of silk and tulle out of the closet

I know you see me standing in that unlit windowAmerica

I see you too  

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