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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