poem for kashmir
[in kashmir, there are mass unidentified graves of an estimated
8,000-10,000 men and boys, dragged from their homes &
never seen again. despite photos of their lived lives, the army
denies these men ever existed.]
when the army comes, the men disappear
when their wives ask where the men went
they are told, the men did not exist.
the men never existed. they imagined
their husbands, slippers neatly by the front
door, entire afternoons spent with a ghost
by the river, the roti tucked in the basket.
weddings, fantasied by entire villages. after
the women walk the soil, barefoot, searching
for a stone that might tell them where
their husband lay. they speak in the language
of land, their grief held by the mushrooms,
by each tiny blade of grass & dancing pollen,
fragile. once, you loved me & then you were taken.
+
oh beloved/ let me follow you/ let me lay
roses where you rest/ let me write your
epitaph in the dirt/ soft/ in case you return/
i can draw a map that leads you back
to me/ did you flee to the trees/ did you cross
a border/ did you forget/ was it painful/
did you run/ could you find peace/ is it light
where you are now/ can you smell the jasmines/
were you afraid/ was someone next to you/
did they hold your hand/ were you in prison/
did they beat you/ did you break/ was it by gun/
did they turn you around/ did you say my name/
did you close your eyes/ did you stare straight
ahead/ were you brave/ does it matter
+
the army does not speak to the earth.
they crack it open, metal & drill.
the dirt holds the bodies of the men
of the ghosts, in mass, the earth blooms
their names through wildflowers, multi-colored
& frail. there was no man. only the story
of him. here, the men always disappear. here,
the women marry their imagination
their children: miracles, a ghost story survived
their children dancing in the night’s light
their children staring into the woods
their children half-whisper & half-birdsong.
+
oh beloved, eye of my eye
the door is open for you
to come back from the grave.
the curtain moves with your name.
this time, we’ll be gifted the spell
to make you stay. the army,
still an army, forgets your
face, your frame, the breeze
tames, the orange finches loud
as a rave. all who were gone
live today. oh ghost, oh man,
oh love, the cup you always
drink from is washed &
waiting, for you to claim.