from immigrants

Poetry / Aria Misha Aber


the bone

above our heads
i pinch the back
of my hand:
little supplications.

madar’s cheeks an offering
to this
sting of light—

the green corduroy sofa, a bus, bamiyan, a scroll of fruit leather—

look, she whispers.

at me.


the bone strokes my
palm with leaves:
it reads its creases—

strong life. short
love. no line of fate
at all. i am

a surgeon i split their
heads open i delivered
a baby in prison they burnt
my passport they—

a gold-embroidered Qur’an, a leather handbag, the tree’s shadow like a net

of nerves
across my father’s house—it wasn’t always
like this

smoke curls
from a pot with crushed
cardamom, the sea of Darjeeling:

i lie.
not like this.

they ask
where are you from
i pause—

not now not now not now—

Aria Misha Aber is a recent graduate from Goldsmiths College, University of London. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Muzzle Magazine, Best British Poetry 2015, decomP, Connotation Press, Wasafiri and others. She is the recipient of a 2015 fellowship from MIEL.