MONSOON OF 2016

 

by A. Shaikh





I imagine the Gulmohar tree

               is a golden bird when it falls



               it falls and I dream the sound of

its crimson death an ocean away



an ocean away, Texas is known for its heat

               and long summers with no rain



               with no rain it is easy to forget monsoons

and freedom and even my grandmother



even my grandmother loses her voice to dust

               visiting the States for the first time



               for the first time since Trump is elected

I call myself immigrant,



immigrant, which is to say the miracle of an uprooted tree

               still growing inside this country



               inside this country, eleven years later

I am still not a citizen,



I am still learning how to spoon the water

               back into my mouth.







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