Whirling
Hebrew Home
The Bronx
Mother sobs
in short bursts
I lean over
brush my cheek
against hers
on the pillow
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at Tarek”
she wails
“he’s drowning
For the love of Allah
save my son.
Look, my bayta
he’s whirling”
I’m curious
how she knows
Tarek’s been swept away
by a rip tide
in Goa
The sea yielded
his corpse
a day later
We hid
the news
from Mother
She’d be beyond grief
for Tarek
youngest of six
even if 62
was her baby
I wonder
voices
she’s been hearing
since I was a kid
is this where poetry
comes from?
by Rafiq Kathwari / @brownpundit
NOTE: “bayta” in Urdu means son