Tuesday, April 12, 2011


She doesn’t know how she got to be lying on her back

but she is calm as an empty dead end in Tehran.

Her eyes peer between legs running away from her

as the rip of the gunshot rings in the air.

Hands heavy, palms open, fingers unfurled

she watches the crowd racing, eyes darting, teeth gnashing

and hears them scream and yell as though underwater.

A camera seizes upon her graceful stillness

she sees it, and for a moment

before her last breath like a step without feet

before the lights dim and colors fade so the blood

which pours out her orifices looks no different

than the green of a nearby tree leaf

for a moment, in that tryst of eyes and camera lens

she shares with it her story, her namesake


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