After

rabanna covers her while she

hangs low in sleep.

a drapery before the fire.

a child’s bed some time after.

her father, the radicle

of freshly piped arteries.

he is prince of taking nutrients,

king of all organs, beggar

of nothing.

rabanna covers her,

moon coughs out its

juices, her father sweeps

and sweeps.

rabanna covers her while she

learns of war in her dreams.

a child before the fire.

a weapon some time after.


Pınar Yaşar is a writer from Boston, MA. Their work can be found in Storm Cellar Quarterly, Cathexis Northwest Press, and HVTN. Yaşar is an alum of the Tin House SWW and a Best of the Net nominee. A child of the Kurdish diaspora, they record their family’s legacy of leadership and loss through what they consider to be insurrectionist poetry. They can be found on twitter: @pinaryasar_