MUSEUMS

Time is the greatest gift
one can ever offer, because it is
the only thing we cannot

take back. It is the same
reason I will not go
to war for a country

I cannot belong to.
I cannot be well-
versed in fast enough to

beckon the tongue to give.
& give lip— all split
and dry with new

breath in the morning. 
All I can offer
the land of my parents

is the promise

that its proper name will not be lost
on me. The curse of the diaspora is to
become a scholar: 
                    an urn for all
the instances their hands
were too small
for anything less
                    than ash.

Is there a word for it? That
sensation of inner lung
being coated by the dust

of another man’s wake. 
I might as well read:
palestine, phulisteen,
a severed realm

of artifacts, a museum
filled with too much
                         echo.

This poem first appeared in Voicemail Poems on April 8th, 2016. To view the poem as it originally appeared, visit the publication here.

----------------------------------------

LIGHT

"As healthcare providers, one of the great joys we have is the honor of experiencing first hand the strength and resilience of children. We see how their laughter, their smiles and their spirit are an important part of the healing journey." -University of Michigan Health System

As a former C.S. Mott Children's Hospital volunteer, I felt beyond blessed to be able to help plan, write, and do the voice-work for this project. This poem and video serve as a modest gift to the patrons of the hospital— the children, their families, and all of their friends— as the close out 2015 and look to begin the year 2016 with renewed vigor. I have almost too many stories to tell from my experience as a volunteer, but they will always be a part of wherever I go.

This poem is as much advice to myself as it is to anyone else. This project ended up winning an Emmy award in the state of Michigan, and that's beyond exciting. Ultimately, I'm thankful for the opportunity to have made this happen, and hope it can bring some joy in the face of pain.

----------------------------------------

MISMARKED

Tariq Luthun, performing his poem about Gaza, Palestine during prelims at the 2015 Individual World Poetry Slam in Washington, D.C.

Recorded by Button Poetry

NEW RULE

*reference: dark like dirt but not like dirt

          when
          you are going to kill
          a person, you must first
          ^[black/brown]*         learn our names,
look us     in the eyes            & say them aloud.
                                  no more
                                  learning
our names after

                                  we're dead

This poem first appeared in The Offing Literary Magazine on May 20th, 2015. To view the poem as it originally appeared, visit the publication here.

----------------------------------------