her mouth is full of burning ash
her hair, her hands covered
where she came from, I will tell her
how I carried her across a grey and cutting sea
and how that must be where she got her eyes
her body is a civil war—
arm of Israel
hand of Palestine
even the way her name rolls
off my tongue is a riot
even her cry at night
is a fire
First published in The Comstock Review Fall/Winter 2017