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protest poems, won a national gold award in the scholastic writing awards. |
Segue for My Sisters in Iraq I. The Right to Life I remember how we danced In the field with the daffodils As they grew out of the spring Sunshine, I did not know The color of blood Never noticed the soldiers standing in the city Before the Americans came I loved the daffodils. I was standing In the garden, I laughed At their President, when little Raneen Said that he talked funny. "Pro-life," he said--that was all Hassan could catch. I remember I was waiting For you, father, I wanted to dance In the daffodil field. But, father, you were running when you came home, And you never ran Because Everyone loved you. I remember, When I was little, they used to call out to you As you walked home from the Mosque, With me on your shoulders, But you were running today. And the Americans were running After you, Father? I thought they were our friends! You told me to run, to get inside But I did not, I watched I watched as gunshots ripped through your body, I saw them tear through my daffodils, Yellow splinters shattering the air I saw you falling, I saw red Spill onto my daffodils, I was screaming, I remembered what you said "My quiet little Amira, never making a sound..." Then it was you who never made a sound, Father, And it was your red blood on the daffodils Your blood blooming on my hands. II. Liberty Words, Spoken in the depths of night, when you, brother, swore Nobody could hear you, nobody could slip Their fingers, shadows of seeing, Beneath your blocked door. But they did. And they heard you scream your words, Praise of God, and shouts of trusts broken The agonizing shriek of dishonor To our sisters, our brothers, our fathers and mothers Our country, our God. Like so many others, you screamed, Clutching your gun as though it was the only weapon That might graze the soldiers' indignant brows. The Americans, you said, speak of freedom. Of speech, you said, they cannot arrest me for speaking! But the next morning, you were gone. Our father, our brothers, all wrested from their beds, Our sisters and mother beaten upon the floor. And they, they did not speak of you, Knew nothing of who you were, Would not say what you, and so many others, had done. But somewhere, you lay in some prison, beaten and broken Punished for some prejudice, some speech, Some crime which you had committed In a dream that you did not remember. III. and the Pursuit of.... White For the beginning, for the days when I loved the Americans When white waved from every balcony Billowed in mother's burka as we greeted the Americans White For peace, For surrender. Blue and red mingled In the purple on our fingers "This finger," you said "This finger is our country, This is our future..." But your words were cut short, little brother As you threw yourself over me, As mother screamed, And all the blue in the purple ink soared back up to the sky Leaving only red To spread from your white shirt White, for peace Only red to cover our fingers You, brother, your spirit left me Left with the blue from purple ink Left me for the sky And your dream, your future, Was only red. They took me to a hospital, Place of white rooms, where they cleaned the red from my fingers White was my world then My future White For surrender. |