You cannot know me.
Today there is no good news
There is no joy to be had
No use whining over milk half full
Last night I threw the glass
If we’re close to ceasing fire
The trumpets aren’t yet heard
I’m simply melting in the heat
Drowning on the verge
The rain is marking time
But time no long matters
The only song I can discern
Is history’s screeching laughter
Where did my daughter go?
For years I haven’t seen her ,
I hope she’s somewhere dancing slow
To jazz high above the ether
I pray I go there with her soon,
but I know it’s not my turn.
So I wade in the southern heat
With nothing on my tongue but yearn.
There is no hate in my heart for man—
Just simple, dull disdain
Just callous feet to kick my husband
Who gave my goats away
I have no fight left in me
The futility of resistance
I put down my sugar knives
When my sweet girl went missing
I am through cutting cane
Grinding hope out soul’s plantation
Chewing on tobacco
Just to spit out old worn patience
History’s a low down thief
I hope I can outlast him,
because I know If I try outrun em
I’ll just fall into his bastion
I once lived outside him
On the margins of his pastures
I once held my daughter in the bosom of my rapture
I had not asked for a good life
Daily bread nor light romance
I just thought if I ever gave my girl away
The pain might accompany slow dance
I’ve put my black to sleep
I left my scarf upon the alter
I have pulled my soul
From that safe place
In the crevice of Gibraltar
I will not give my testimony
As I stand outside of time
I will not beg for pulp
As I swallow the last rind
What you’ve taken you cannot return
Yet I bear no malice
I pour no wine in your dark wake
Long ago I broke the chalice
I simply hope when your good thing
ends
As good things end with time—
When your good thing falls upon the floor
Joining all good things of mine
That at first you barely notice
Then all at once you start your mourning
Then you compose yourself
Enact the rites
And pray relief comes in the morning
And when history does not show up
As she seldom does when you most need her
That you fall to your knees
Believing as fools do
That humility might please her
And when she strikes you down in shame
As you cannot exalt her
I hope you are deafened by the fading jazz
Of the music of my daughter.
Only then will you know me.
—— for Yasmeen, for Syria.