Written By: Alia Hussain Vancrown
Name constellations after deceased birds or daughters
buried at birth, who grow into trees, whose branches
scratch at unattainable sky and relieve it of cloud
and condensation. Jolt mood with measured
dose of caffeine and vicodin, a chance for open
appreciation of dilapidated barns in Ohio –
countryside bulls with shaved horns, pesticide
sprinklers more giant than giants, the happily
fading myths of hunting fires, consumption.
Zabiha turns irrelevant when life leading
up to the jugular cut Bismillahi wallahu
‘Akbar [Allahumma minka wa laka
Allahumma taqabbal minnee] is caged
is compressed bone to bone
barred en masse, screaming
accept it from me a rigid reality.
Time accumulates the before and after
the finances of a funeral, dirt numeric
by the handful, by the gatherers, the bouquets
the wrongness of dinner plates for the animated
carrion, looking to pick apart the story.
We read a retelling of Icarus in stanzas
while wax melts the living space, softens
the dark in meter – the light is a gradient
luminance, opposite of hopping children
on the sidewalk, to adults in the parking lot
empty shopping carts. Not once is said
blood, politics, ordinary, purchase.
But we look upward to find her
there she is the bird that spawns
and she appears to move vast
but it is we who inch below vastly.
About the Author
Alia Hussain Vancrown was born December 1, 1987. Her work has appeared in Kweli Journal, Unlikely Stories, Drunk Monkeys, Eunoia Review, Red Fez, Midway Journal, Ink In Thirds, among others. She welcomes all discussion of books and poetry and can be found on Facebook or contacted via e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.