print previewPost-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
wrong. 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 
Jamaica
A Love Letter to My Panic
New Year
Post-Election Morning