where are you from
so what, if I never saw you—
in the beginning, life was blind
what is that accent
my notion of style is
to be expelled with vogue eyebrows
while I pull taut around my lips a sotto voce
define sentimentality
four sparrows picking pebbles on snow-robed garbage
no, no—the burnt baby flickering on TV
who are your ancestors
a vase filled with grenade pins
when was the last time you cried
I saw a nondescript clay house
in Rogue One and wept for hours
do you remember the first time you cried
once, as a child, I climbed a hill
and arrived, I swear, inside you—everything
morphed red—but the Shah of afternoon disciplined me
by my sea-black mane—it was then that you happened
please describe exile in one sentence
I am a wife of fire
what do you know about fire
sometimes I awake marrowless, bone-hungry
and expose my clavicle—first bone to ossify—to the dirty light of the empire
have you ever been to Afghanistan
yes—no,
but let us not converse
about the obvious—
when did you learn English
still, I’m half-ashamed—
is it right to call me yours? I language
about our kinship
where are you from
I was outgassed, I was conditioned to orbit America
(for too long, my answer was a fiction)
what is beauty in your country
I check my eyeliner
in stranger’s cars
and barbarous bugs blink back at me
from the warp of wing mirrors
until I stab them
where are you from