Thursday, January 6
GHAZAL FOR A NATIONAL EMERGENCY
Look: people leaping off ladders, landing in Washington.
Curses lift like smoke from throats warm the air in Washington.
A man selling water on a median sweats into his eyes. The cars blur
into a string of silver anchors, pinning the world to Washington.
Loss is a vector, all magnitude and direction: computers detect a pear
rotting under Damascus rubble from all the way in Washington.
Lives pile up like constellations, diamonds on black silk ready to be
set in God's crown. Fetch Him, and bring Him back to Washington.
Tulip trees crack in the heat, then shatter into crosses, paper
pulp. Embrace your rage and this will be easier, winks Washington.
Satan is a long bone shocked hard from the mouth that grew him,
a great elephant tusk shooting up out the grave of Washington.
The dead want too much. To scare the living, they gasp their old names—
the living panic, plug their ears, and send their dread to Washington.
(Kaveh Akbar)