after Leila Chatti
let me praise not the wasp & the paper nest,
the caterpillar’s soft green coat, the trapdoor
spider & her low warm house, the tunnel
& the milky white egg, the larvae in the egg, no,
not praise, thick emerald of a jungle, despite
that there is no jungle, & I’ll not praise
the desert, her vat of stars, the stars like an earring
pinned to a grandfather’s coat, again, no coat,
no fabrics called raw silk or gauze, no glaze
of the sun on the sea like honey on phyllo dough,
see how simile orders all things, takes logic
& reduces to an arc of thought, see flood
& floodgate & fear, no praise for the hand
that harms me & if I be an insect so be it
& let me sting, I’ll praise only the true thing
for what it is, no metaphor, here I praise
the name of a child called Jibreel, a real child,
a child named for the angel messenger
bearing only good news.
Copyright © 2024 by Emily Khilfeh. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 31, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.