Crescent

My poem was published in 'For The Sonorous', an online magazine founded by Masfi Khan! 

fell off a swing, woodchips sewed themselves

into my pink flesh. my eyes squeezed shut because

they feared blood, mother’s mystical fingers

alleviated the sting, stitched the wound with

the faded face of Barbie and told me to never fear

climbing the clouds to reach the stars.

moonlight kissed my face, mother told me that

regardless of where you live, the moon’s glow

will always be the same. moved. saw the culture

I knew recede into the horizon as the plane sliced

the amber skies. landed in a realm where breathing

was difficult, smoke from vehicles concealed the

moon’s innocent shine. so I relied on the soft face of

mother to give me the light I had lost, her smile the

crescent this country had stolen from the heavens. until

a little girl, my sister, almost died and I realized how much

blood a body can contain. saw mother’s crescent turn

upside-down, eyes that reflected sunlight donning

waterfalls, constellations shatter into fragments too

far to see from the earth. the little girl is alive, happy,

beautiful. I chart maps that describe destruction, realize

that every disturbance comes with casualties, meteors

that burn. except not all losses are visible, some just a

loss of heat, a fire that blazed too long and needs to rest.