Dunya Mikhail

Part of this poem was read in NPR’s morning edition.

Due to listeners’ request, it is linked here.

Larsa

You move inside me, Larsa,

so I draw shapes:

A circle for pregnant water

A rectangle for a movable bed

A triangle for the doctor’s face

A crescent for the umbilical cord,

or for your boat.

You squeeze out of me,

a ripe seed of corn,

and I forget all my enemies

with the moon in my arms.

You send signals

and lisps

like a little prophetess

so I beckon these doves

to land upon the dots

in my notebook

and form holy verses.

You yawn

so I pluck the stars

and place them in my words.

May they delight you

when you read them.

(And in what language will you read them?)

You walk

so I take the flutter

from autumn leaves

as they fall to earth.

I don’t know why I take them

flutter by flutter,

except that you are beautiful, Larsa!

You wave your hand

so I know

you are mixing rivers

lakes

and continents

with a teaspoon or straw.

You carry the Euphrates and the Atlantic
together
to school,
mix colors
and temperatures
so all sides reconcile
because you are beautiful, Larsa!
And like snowballs tumbling
to stillness
nations stop fighting for a moment
because you are beautiful, Larsa!