How’d Your Parents Die Again? — Fatimah Asghar
Again? As though I told you how the first time.
Everyone always tries to theft, bring them back out the grave.
Let them rest; my parents stay dead. Their dirge, my every
-morning’s minaret. All the world’s earth is my momma’s grave.
The water droplet on the park’s sunflower petal: her name.
I kiss every stone & it becomes my father’s tomb: his grave.
They said I was too young for the funerals, so I played
dress up at home. I’ve never been to my daddy’s grave.
My ache: two jet fuels ruining the sun’s set play. The bee’s
discarded wing, glazed into honey. Everywhere I look — graves.
Would I trust a God that promised me my family?
Does it matter how, if they’re gone, twenty-five years, a grave
what’s left of their remains? Does it matter how? There’s no
place to see them again. Home is the first grave.
