Golden shovel after Ocean Vuong
forget what it is to mourn: forget what it is to savor your
roots, to love delicate ripping things. in this light my father
bleeds golden brown. breathes air tinged by flour dust. to him home is
across oceans, something that shatters only
when touched. iran does not want baba, baba says it is best to lie through your
teeth, grow incisors from your heart. baba says don’t call me baba, call me father.
dad. from birth i smooth worlds into american consonants until
the warmth of baba’s childhood cools at the waste bin’s end. just one
other faceless foreign thing. baba, remember how i once dreamed of
your eyes, baking them into the lids of my own. how now i can only find you
in crumbs, remnants, love soft-rotted — this is how time forgets.
Zoe Younessian is a student of Iranian and Chinese descent. She is grateful for apples, ampersands, and prose poetry. You can find her work in the Eunoia Review.