When someone dies in Tripoli, we write their names on paper
Next to their pictures and post them where others can see.
Walk the street where the names wave the walls,
flutter from windows, buildings gilled with sheets—
breathing paper, beating paper, the streets are paper—
and we don’t know who we’re going to see, whose face
will call from that collage, the hundreds of eyes glancing
all around, as though we could lift them from the pages,
as though we weren’t born into war, too,
as though our religion (blood-bright
in the hands of a checkpoint guard, a flapping wing of paper)
won’t tack us among them—the razed, their names, white light.
2013
Shorty
Contemporary
2023
Agency
Death & Loss
Identity
Intersectionality & Culture
Violence & War
Alliteration
the repetition of the same letter or sound at the beginning of words appearing in succession
Metaphor
a comparison between two unrelated things through a shared characteristic
Personification
the attribution of human qualities to a non-human thing
Repetition
a recurrence of the same word or phrase two or more times