would the serpent still / ache to venomize me / if he had known
his / seductions unhidden to / God permeated the skin / of a
black man / the first / the only / to exist in a metaphysical / lineup
room / two-way mirror built from / ethereal nylon threads/
gifted from malak al maut’s / whip / serpent wastes no time / his
rattle striking false accusations
would the mark of sin / hung low beneath a five o’clock shadow /
my very existence / grow into a larger beast / a vicious beast / if children of sundown towns / forwent racism / for more
intelligent -isms / invented a time travel machine / implored God/
quite pleasantly / for a harsher punishment / simply because / i
come from / a n-gger
would Abraham’s foes / stop painting / the sheikhs / the pastors /
the rabbis / as being / incarnations of hell / fresh off the oven /
would they? / if their eyes / split open like apple seeds / grew
shrewd vines / and overtook the wall / covered my father’s portrait
/ his skin / his skin / his skin / the same hue as / an apple’s guts
would every n-word / rub their skin raw / down to the last layer /
until their hypodermis breaks up / over text / from a lifelong /
toxic / not so heavenly / relationship / with UV Ray / & if he
came crying back / would they / sign up for / that trendy
experiment / step inside a laser box / ask who schrӧdinger’s cat is /
every time melanin is / broiled off the bone / would they?
The Jirtig
after Safia Elhillo
in the dream
i never left home wore curls without relaxer
my country never bombed habouba never
displaced our language washed pure
of arab-centered corrections.
in the dream
i snuggle my nose into my mother’s hijabs
pastel blues & cheetah prints all spritzed
with ‘tir a scent which makes my American side
sneeze with shame.
in the dream
khaltu dalia picks out my red tobe mama rubs
the soles of my feet with sesame oil baba
sings a mahmoud abdulaziz tune
at the jirtig fingers snapping
to violin’s harmonies.
in the dream
mahmoud abdulaziz glistens from the highest seat
in Jannah boasts to the prophets
his Sudan, our Sudan cheated death
even after he died.
in the dream
my husband begets no reason to apply for
the diversity visa for what is more
diverse
than the Land of the Blacks?
where west Darfur breaks bread with Madani,
where hilba meets a’seeda at the break of dawn,
where jirtigs take place all night,
music cascading through the
homiest of villages.
in the dream,
we do not weep anymore;
we do not bleed anymore;
we do not rot by the streetside.
in the dream
we prosper in it all and all and all.
Elegy for My Younger Self Transcribed in a Language I Did Not Yet Speak, Addressed to a God of All Tongues
after Tamara Panici
wehn we lnad in teh frgiid ctiy / will my byod trmebel / or will teh garuds rpleace my abaya wthi glovse? / on teh frist day in class / hwom do i part a smlie to frist / teh forieng wieht-fceas / or yuo? if it is yuo / then i msut aks / hwo much longre do i sit whit this faer? / i was tuaght / yellwo busse hold dmonion ovre raods / yet they maek me feel invsiibel / eahc day a passing suol forcse frendshiip / snakc tiem too aerly / fihs too gldoen and plaistc / if it is yuo / pleesa awnser / how muhc longre do i sit whit this faer?
/ of tmei-oust wehn my toeneg provse too meek to mouht ‘sorry’ /
of brihgt lihgst aboev / in this new ctiy / teh sun stse whit angre / i knwo mrcey / i knwo mrcey can’t be this cuerl / bakc hoem / i cluod dncae on teh roooftps / sun sest whit teendr gliemmr / no tckiing clokc to beerat / my foolyshli dooledd tmies tabel / god of all toungse / will yuo udnretsnad if my tounge is not yte brthied / if not teh laanguag of toungse / waht do yuo udnretsnad? / if not teh cry of a frihgtneed child / waht do yuo feel?
Artwork Courtesy of our featured Artist Hassan Zahreddine
