on my block, a gate
on my block, a tree smelling
of citrus & jasmine that knocks
me back into the arms of my dead
mother. i ask Ross how can a tree
be both jasmine & orange, on my block
my neighbors put up gates & stare
don’t like to share, on my block
a tree I can’t see, but can smell
a tree that can’t be both but is
on my block, my mother’s skirt twirls
& all i smell is her ghost, perfume
on my block, a fallen orange
smashed into sidewalk
it’s blood pulped on asphalt on my
block, Jordan hands me a jasmine
by the time i get home
all its petals are gone
Copyright © 2017 by Fatimah Asghar. Originally published in Poetry (March, 2017). Used with the permission of the poet.