By Bean Gast, Editor
Mother I saw you
in Mehrangez,
in my great-grandmother’s
pure Persian joy
Mother I heard you
in Mehrangeez,
in my great-grandmother’s
Farsi,
which sounded like poetry
Mother I hear you
in Khosro,
in my grandfather’s
accent
never able to say the “th”
Mother I see you in
Khoosheh,
my cousin
through the screen
sitting cozy
sipping black tea in Tehran
Mother I see you
in Mehry,
in my own mother’s
dark brown eyes
in her jet black frizzy hair
Mother I see you
in Soriya,
my sister
whose eyes are a mirror to mine
big green wide
Mother I see you
in me
the bridge of my nose
the shape of my eyes
the hair of my body
Mother I become you
in food
when I devour
the saffron,
sumac,
pomegranate,
hummus
Mother I feel you
in the love
from my ancestors
holding me tightly
honoring my body
honoring my blood
Mother I see you
on TV
again through a screen
thousands of killings
Dear Mother whom I’ve never met,
I pray
that I will not fund
the bombing of you
I pray
for the day that the people who belong to you
your children
will escape the chains of the Republic
I pray
for the day that I see you
I hear you
I become you
in
IRAN.
