By Leila Chatti
If you had asked me, thirteen, what I wantedto be one day, I wouldn’t have said it.
Hidden in a dim stall as the muezzin calledall worshipers to prayer, I touched privatelythe indelible stain.
Christmas, flew home packaged like a gift. Beneath my jeans a childlike padding. Came to adore the wee god, his dolorous mother.
More from this issue
By David Mason
This month's poster features a poem from David Mason. It appeared in our Spring 2013 issue on The Business of Literature. To download a high-resolution PDF of this image, click here.
By Victoria Chang
This month's poster features a poem from Victoria Chang. It appeared in our Fall 2012 issue on The Female Conscience. To download a high-resolution PDF of this image, click here.
By William Baer
"Tracking Shots," from our Winter 2013 issue on Classic Hollywood.
More Online Poetry
By Claire Schwartz
By John S. Sledge
By John Freeman