Whose breath maintains our beautiful America?
(narrated by a young girl refugee in Iraqi mountains)
d. castleman
In our holiest mosque in Basra
my sisters and my mama and I prayed
while Papa shooed away the dragons outside.
From richly fruited plains an American dragon
so smart it knew just how to behave
flew through the doors and vaporized the altar
with heat unspeakable.
In an instant every candle celebrating light
and a thousand worshippers became dust.
We'd been late because our baby disappeared
and when the dragon moved within that holy place
we spun and ran, anticipating heat.
Every~ody's papa was dead as we ran out
and my sister who was left and I ran out
and traipsed among the caravans of refugees.
In these cold mountains the cold is bitter cold
and Basra was so hot among the dragons
I yearn for temperatures more moderate.
